Wind 


Cyrus  Tj^wnsena  Brady 


Amy  Benham  saves  her  lover's  life 

[  Page  363 


The  West  Wind 


A  Story  of  Red  Men  and  White  in  Old  Wyoming 


By  CYRUS  TOWNSEND  BRADY 

Author  of  "As  the  Sparks  Fly  Upward,"  "The  Better 

Man/*  "Hearts  and  the  Highway,"  "The 

Island  of  Regeneration,"  Etc. 


WITH  THREE  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BY  MAYNARD  DIXON 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1912 


Published,  September,  1912 
Entered  at  Stationers*  Hall,  London,  England 


TO 

MY  FRIEND  AND  KINSMAN 

COLONEL  ELI  D.  HOYLE, 

COMMANDING  THE  SIXTH  FIELD  ARTILLERY 
UNITED  STATES  ARMY 


M18197 


THE  WEST  WIND 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  HALF  BREED 

A  LMOST  before  the  sharp  report  of  the 
-*  ^  heavy  rifle  reached  her  ears,  the  girl  saw 
the  old  man,  who  had  been  sitting  so  quietly  by 
her  side,  lovingly  holding  her  hand  and  talking 
so  sweetly  to  her,  stop  short  in  the  middle  of  a 
word  and  leap  to  his  feet  as  if  impelled  upward 
by  some  dynamic  force.  Appalled  by  the  terrific 
suddenness  of  his  movement,  she  saw  him  waver 
in  the  air  a  moment,  as  if  the  force  had  been  as 
instantaneously  withdrawn  as  it  had  been  ap- 
plied, and  then  plunge  helplessly  downward  on 
his  face  in  the  grass  at  her  feet  And  there  he 
laid  very  still  and  quiet  indeed. 

Being  a  Western  woman,  and  having  lived 
most  of  her  life  among  men  to  whom  "On 
Guard"  was  the  necessary  watchword,  her  first 


THE  WEST  WIND 

instinctive  motion  as  he  fell  was  to  snatch  the 
rifle  that  had  lain  convenient  to  the  man's  hand 
on  the  bench  on  which  they  had  been  sitting. 
Realizing  instantly  and  instinctively  perhaps 
that  the  man  at  her  feet  was  already  dead,  and 
with  equal  instinct  suspecting  further  danger  to 
herself,  she  turned  around,  weapon  in  hand,  and 
faced  the  canon  upon  the  lip  of  which  the  ranch 
house  had  been  builded.  She  was  alive  to  the 
necessity  of  defense.  Time  to  indulge  her  grief 
would  come  later. 

She  saw  nothing.  She  heard  nothing.  The 
silence  was  profound.  A  light  breeze  stirred 
the  pines  on  the  high  uplands  but  there  was  not 
a  sign  of  human  presence  save  in  a  faint,  diapha- 
nous and  rapidly  vanishing  blur  of  grayish 
smoke  against  the  blue  sky,  overhanging  the 
depth  of  the  canon.  And  none  but  a  prac- 
ticed eye  would  have  noticed  that.  If  the  shot 
had  come  from  the  incorporeal  air  and  from  a 
phantom  weapon  it  could  scarcely  have  left 
less  evidence  of  its  source. 

Staring  in  fruitless  unease  and  disquiet  for  a 
momentj  tenderer  emotions  supervened.  The 
woman  leaned  the  rifle  against  the  bench — a  per- 

16 


THE  HALF  BREED 

son  unused  to  firearms  would  have  dropped  it 
— and  turned  to  look  at  the  inert  figure  on  the 
grass  which  had  not  moved  since  that  convulsive 
upward  leap  followed  by  that  wild  headlong 
pitch  forward  and  downward. 

What  she  saw  as  she  stooped  over  him  was  suf- 
ficiently horrible.  The  bullet  of  a  large  caliber 
weapon,  evidently  fired  at  close  range,  had  torn 
out  the  whole  back  of  the  old  man's  skull.  His 
white  hair  was  dabbled  and  gory.  Sick  with 
horror,  shuddering  with  grief,  shrinking  away, 
yet  resolute,  the  young  woman  bent  down  to  him 
and  turned  him  over.  The  front  view  was  if 
anything  worse  than  the  other.  The  bullet  had 
been  nicked  with  diabolic  malignity  and  had 
mushroomed.  What  a  moment  before  had  been 
a  handsome,  splendid  old  man,  was  now  a  thing 
inexpressible.  It  cannot  be  described,  much  less 
dwelt  upon. 

Then  her  iron  self-control  gave  away.  She 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  long  shudders 
shaking  her  slender  figure  as  a  reed  is  shaken  by 
the  wind.  She  sank  to  her  knees  by  the  side  of 
the  body  and  could  not  rise  for  a  space.  She 
thought  she  would  have  fainted.  Indeed,  most 

17 


THE  WEST  WIND 

certainly  she  would  have  done  so  if  she  had  been 
bred  elsewhere  than  in  the  West,  or  had  there 
been  any  one  near  her  to  relieve  her  of  respon- 
sibility. She  did  not  weep.  The  grief  in  her 
overwrought  heart  was  too  deep  for  the  relief  of 
tears.  Perhaps  she  prayed.  She  could  not  tell 
afterwards.  Perhaps  she  only  knelt  there  in  a 
voiceless  agony  of  sorrow  and  despair. 

At  any  rate,  she  presently  realized,  after  how 
long  or  short  a  time  she  could  not  tell,  that  the 
situation  called  for  immediate  action.  She  cov- 
ered the  face  of  the  man  with  her  handkerchief, 
although  what  it  cost  her  to  do  so  can  scarcely 
be  imagined,  and  rose  to  her  feet,  unsteady,  yet 
determined. 

She  had  scarcely  attained  the  upright  position 
when  she  heard  a  soft  swish  through  the  air. 
She  was  conscious  of  something  long,  sinuous, 
tremulous  flashing  before  her  eyes.  Another 
second  and  a  slender  rope  whirled  over  her  head 
and  slipped  down  over  her  shoulders.  There 
was  a  sudden  sharp  constriction  about  her  el- 
bows. The  loop  was  drawn  close  on  the  instant. 

The  situation  was  novel,  but  she  realized  at 
once  what  had  happened.  Some  one  had  thrown 

18 


THE  HALF  BREED 

a  lariat  and  she  was  fast  bound  and  helpless. 
Making  a  futile  motion  toward  the  Winchester, 
and  realizing  on  the  instant  how  impossible  it 
would  be  to  seize  it  with  the  pressure  already  on 
the  taut  rope,  she  turned  about,  to  confront  a 
man. 

He  was  a  handsome,  devil-may-care  individual 
of  medium  height,  whose  well-knit  and  muscu- 
lar figure  gave  promise  of  a  strength  which 
might  almost  have  been  deemed  incompatible 
with  his  lithe  body  and  graceful  alertness  of 
movement.  For  the  rest  and  to  particularize, 
his  complexion  was  reddish  brown,  his  eyes  were 
brightly  black,  his  hair  was  long  and  slightly 
curly  on  his  shoulders.  He  wore  the  ordinary 
dress  of  the  cow-puncher,  but  there  was  a  touch 
or  two  of  added  brightness  in  his  apparel.  A 
ribbon  here  and  a  jewel  there,  overelaboration 
of  stitching  and  embroidery  on  boots  and  belt  and 
hat-band  that  was  quite  foreign  to  the  pure 
American  breed. 

Clasping  the  lariat  firmly  in  his  right  hand, 
and  keeping  tight  strain  upon  it  lest  by  some 
frantic  movement  she  might  work  herself  free, 
with  his  left  he  took  off  his  big  Stetson  hat,  and 


THE  WEST  WIND 

bowe'd  low  before  her.  He  smiled  as  he  did  so, 
flashing  his  white  teeth  in  the  sunlight  with  all 
the  nonchalance  in  the  world,  apparently  quite 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  just  been  guilty 
of  the  murder  of  her  father,  his  aged  friend  and 
benefactor,  who  had  also  been  his  employer,  and 
was  now  about  to  add  to  that  heinous  crime  the 
abduction  of  a  woman. 

She  stared  at  him  a  moment,  speechless  be- 
tween surprise  and  aversion. 

"So  it  was  you  who  killed  him!  You!"  she 
whispered  at  last,  as  if  scarcely  able  to  compre- 
hend the  obvious  fact. 

He  nodded  as  gracefully  as  before.  Evi- 
dently he  felt  rather  proud  of  his  murderous 
exploit. 

"Why?" 

"Because  he  stood  in  my  way." 

"Your  way?    Where?" 

"To  you,  Mademoiselle,"  he  replied  concisely. 

In  his  accent  no  less  than  by  his  manner  he 
betrayed  the  fact  that  the  blood  of  some  old 
Coureur  de  Bois  ran  in  his  veins  and  accounted 
for  the  curling  wave  in  his  black  hair. 

20 


THE  HALF  BREED 

"To-  me!"  exclaimed  the  woman,  revulsion 
showing  in  her  face  and  voice. 

"To  you,"  said  the  man  harshly,  dropping, 
as  a  cloak  is  cast  aside,  his  glamour  of  chivalry 
and  gallantry,  and  speaking  now  with  the  fierce 
blood  of  his  Indian  forbears.  "I  want  you  for 
my" — he  paused  a  second — "squaw!"  he  added 
with  deliberate  malice. 

He  would  fain  make  her  pay  for  something 
he  had  suffered  at  her  hand  in  days  past. 

"I  would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths!"  was 
the  hot  return.  The  contempt  and  the  admira- 
tion in  his  tone  and  words  alike  infuriated  her. 
"I  had  rather  be  with  him  yonder!"  she  added 
in  bitter  scorn. 

"Pardon,"  broke  in  the  Half  Breed  non- 
chalantly, smiling  again,  "but  the  alternative  is 
not  between  death  and  life." 

"What  then?"  cried  the  girl. 

"Between  being  my  wife,  or — " 

"You!  you!"  she  choked  out,  seemingly  un- 
able to  find  words  to  voice  her  aversion  and  con- 
tempt, emotions  which  for  the  time  being  com- 
pletely deprived  her  of  any  fear  of  him. 

As  she  spoke  she  ran  toward  him,  to  what  pur- 

21 


THE  WEST  WIND 

pose  she  could  hardly  have  told  in  her  passion- 
ate resentment  and  indignation.  This,  indeed, 
was  just  what  he  wanted,  for  with  a  sudden  deft 
movement  of  his  hand,  he  flung  the  now  loosened 
rope  around  her  feet,  catching  them  together 
and  encircling  them  tighter  with  a  quick  jerk, 
the  swiftness  of  which,  although  he  strove  to 
prevent  it,  to  do  him  justice,  nearly  threw  her  off 
her  balance.  She  was  now  bound  hand  and  foot 
and  more  helpless  than  before.  She  even  kept 
her  feet  with  difficulty.  The  consciousness  of 
that  was  bad  enough,  but  to  see  the  man  laugh 
was  worse.  He  was  actually  enjoying  her  pre- 
dicament and  her  rage  filled  him  with  pleasure. 
He  approached  her  now,  caught  her  by  the  waist 
and  shoulders,  her  whole  soul  revolting  from  his 
touch,  and  laid  her  gently  enough  down  on  the 
grass.  To  struggle  was  impossible.  She  had  to 
submit.  He  stooped  over  her  a  moment  to  make 
the  knots  secure.  The  indignity  of  her  position 
for  a  moment  drove  every  other  thought  out  of 
her  heart. 

"If  I  ever  get  my  hand  loose,"  she  said  at  last, 
straightening  convulsively  at  his  touch,  "God 
help  you!" 

22 


THE  HALF  BREED 

The  threat  did  not  appear  to  alarm  him  un- 
duly. 

"I  '11  take  care  of  that,  Mademoiselle,"  he  an- 
swered composedly;  "meanwhile  you  must  go 
with  me." 

"Where?" 

"Where  I  please." 

"Why?" 

"I  have  told  you.  At  least,  my  actions  must 
have  told  you,"  he  went  on,  with  certainly  no 
appropriate  idea  of  what  his  real  actions  ex- 
pressed, "that  I  love  you;  that  I  mean  to  have 
you.  I  sought  to  pay  court  to  you  honorably 
through  him  yonder,  and  he  threatened  to  kick 
me  off  the  place.  And  when  I  told  you — well, 
I  shall  not  soon  forget  your  look  or  your  answer." 
He  laughed  once  more.  "You  may  look  but  at 
least  you  will  not  answer  me  like  that  again.  As 
for  him,  the  man  does  not  hold  his  life  at  a  very 
high  rate  who  threatens  me.  He  won't  kick  any- 
body off  the  place  now." 

"There  are  others  who  will,"  said  the  woman 
with  spirit  undaunted ;  she  would  not  permit  him 
the  luxury  of  suspecting  that  he  frightened  her 
by  his  sinister  words.  "And  it  would  be  better 

23 


THE  WEST  WIND 

for  you  had  you  never  been  born  if  you  harm  a 
hair  of  my  head." 

"You  mean  Sullivan?" 

The  woman  nodded. 

"Perhaps  Kennard?" 

Again  the  sigh  of  affirmation. 

"Burly  Irish  pig  and  tin  pot  soldier,"  he 
sneered;  "I  can  take  care  of  them  both." 

"You  will  have  a  chance  to  try." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  if  the  matter 
were  of  absolute  and  entire  indifference  to  him. 

"Meanwhile,"  he  said,  "we  must  get  away  to 
some  spot  where  I  can  woo  you  and  win  your 
love  undisturbed." 

Again  she  raged  against  that  mixture  of  pas- 
sion and  mockery. 

"And  do  you  think  that  such  a  woman  as  I, 
even  if  you  were  of  my  people,  and  possessed 
all  the  qualities  that  you  lack,  could  do  any- 
thing but  loathe  you  when  you  come  red-handed 
into  my  presence?" 

"We  shall  see.  Meanwhile  we  must  get 
away." 

He  whistled  softly  as  he  spoke  and  a  bronco 
came  trotting  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 

24 


THE  HALF  BREED 

nickering  slightly,  and  stooped  to  his  hand. 
Throwing  the  reins  over  a  peg  in  the  log  wall 
of  the  ranch  house  near  by  and  leaving  the  woman 
alone  upon  the  grass,  the  man,  who  seemed  en- 
tirely familiar  with  the  place,  turned  and  ran 
swiftly  toward  the  corral  where  were  kept  the 
private  saddle  horses.  Selecting  her  own  mount 
he  caught  it  easily  and  haltered  it.  Disdaining 
her  own  saddle,  he  took  another  from  the  store- 
house, a  man's  saddle,  and  clapped  it  on  her 
pony's  back.  Then  he  led  the  horse  back  to  the 
pair  he  had  left. 

The  girl  had  managed  to  writhe  and  struggle 
along  the  grass  until  her  head  was  laid  on  the 
feet  of  the  dead  man  she  had  so  loved. 

"Ah,  very  pretty,"  he  sneered,  staring  into  her 
stony  face.  "Now  I  am  about  to  mount  you  on 
the  horse,  your  own,  you  see.  Will  you  go  with- 
out a  struggle  if  I  unbind  your  feet?" 

"I  promise  nothing,"  she  answered. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled  again. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said;  "I  must  get  along 
without  your  parole  then.  It  does  n't  matter 
much  after  all." 

Seeing  that  her  arms  were  still  securely  bound, 

25 


THE  WEST  WIND 

the  man  knelt  and  unloosened  the  rope  about  her 
ankles.  Then  he  lifted  her  lightly  to  her  feet. 
The  instant  she  could  do  so,  she  kicked  out  at 
him  savagely.  And  he  only  avoided  her  by  a 
quick  backward  leap.  She  was  young,  vigorous 
and  strong,  but  the  odds  were  too  heavy  against 
her.  The  Half  Breed  clasped  his  arms  about 
her  in  spite  of  her  efforts  and  held  her  with  an 
iron  grip.  The  contact  with  him  was  so  loath- 
some to  her  that  she  almost  instantly  ceased  to 
struggle,  wherefore  he  at  once  released  her. 

"That  is  better,"  he  said,  panting  and  flushed 
with  his  exertions.  "Now,  will  you  get  on  that 
horse  like  a  human  being,  or  shall  I  tie  you 
across  the  saddle  like  a  slaughtered  bear?" 

"I  shall  do  nothing,"  answered  the  woman. 

She  had  looked  lovely  before,  but  in  her  dis- 
hevelment  and  disarray  she  looked  even  more 
beautiful,  thought  the  man.  He  ran  to  her 
swiftly  and  seized  her  in  his  arms.  Her  cheek 
was  very  near  his  lips.  He  did  not  offer  to  kiss 
her.  A  thought  struck  him.  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  get  her  in  the  saddle,  if  she  struggled, 
without  hurting  her,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  harm 
her  yet.  He  would  try  strategy. 

26 


THE  HALF  BREED 

"You  see,"  he  said,  holding  her  tight,  "how 
helpless  you  are.  If  you  do  not  instantly  mount 
that  horse,  or  allow  me  to  place  you  in  the  sad- 
dle, I  will—" 

"What?" 

"Kiss  you  into  submission,"  he  laughed,  quite 
delighted  with  his  own  invention. 

Her  blood  turned  cold  at  the  mere  thought. 

"Put  me  up,"  she  said  faintly,  instantly  choos- 
ing the  least  dreadful  alternative. 

"That  masters  you,  does  it?"  he  sneered.  "You 
see,  of  course,  that  I  could  take  all  the  kisses  I 
want.  You  note  my  magnanimity  and  kindness 
in  leaving  you  free." 

"Free!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  looking  at  her 
bonds. 

"In  one  sense,  yes,  in  another,  no.  I  want  to 
win  your  kisses.  I  want  them  to  be  given  to  me, 
I  will  not  steal  them.  There  will  be  no  need 
when  you  know  me  better." 

"Let  us  go,"  said  the  woman,  to  whom  the  con- 
versation was  becoming  unendurable. 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  would  see  it,"  he  cried, 
perversely  misunderstanding  her. 

As  he  spoke  he  seized  her  once  more,  and  by 

27 


THE  WEST  WIND 

a  great  effort  lifted  her  into  the  saddle.  With 
a  strange  quality  of  delicacy,  which  was  as  un- 
expected as  it  was  amazing  to  her,  he  carefully 
arranged  her  skirts  about  her  as  well  as  he  could 
before  he  slipped  her  little  feet  into  the  short- 
ened stirrups.  Then  he  coolly  tied  them  to- 
gether under  the  horse's  belly  with  a  loose  rope. 

"You  see  I  am  not  quite  sure  of  you  yet,"  he 
said.  "Are  you  quite  comfortable?" 

"Comfortable!"  was  the  bitter  ejaculation, 
which  he  again  deliberately  misunderstood. 

"Ah,  then  we  will  move  on." 

He  sprang  lightly  into  his  own  saddle,  and 
taking  the  long  rope  attached  to  the  hackamore 
of  the  otherwise  unbridled  animal  which  she  be- 
strode, he  started  off. 

The  woman,  bound,  fettered,  helpless,  turned 
and  gave  one  long  glance  back  at  the  figure  lying 
so  still  on  the  grass.  Then  and  not  till  then  did 
the  tears  well  to  her  eyes,  but  she  bit  her  lip 
resolutely  and  held  them  unshed.  She  would 
not  allow  this  man  who  had  murdered  her 
father,  and  who  was  stealing  her  away,  to  see 
any  evidence  whatever  of  so-called  woman's 
weakness  in  her. 

28 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  THE  RAPIDS 

AS  the  girl  and  her  captor  turned  the  corner 
of  the  house  the  whole  landscape  rose  be- 
fore them.  The  rancher  had  planted  his  stakes 
on  the  edge  of  a  deep  and  narrow  canon,  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  Big  Horn  Range.  Below,  the 
country  fell  far  away.  The  trees  disappeared. 
The  terrain  developed  into  a  rich  and  grassy 
upland.  Far  down  the  valley  her  father's  herds 
were  pastured.  There,  at  work  on  some  of  the 
multiple  duties  of  the  cattleman's  hard,  prosaic 
life,  were  Sullivan,  the  big,  splendid  foreman, 
and  the  other  boys  of  the  ranch.  Even  the 
Chinese  cook,  who  usually  was  about  the  house, 
had  gone  away  that  morning,  and  she  and  her 
father  had  been  alone.  The  Half  Breed  had 
chosen  his  time  with  diabolic  cunning. 

Beyond  the  valley  rose  another  range,  a  lower 
one,  shutting  it  in  on  the  farther  side.  A  score 
of  miles  away  was  Fort  McCullough,  where 

29 


THE  WEST  WIND 

were  quartered  Captain  Kennard  and  his  troop. 
How  those  men  would  have  rushed  to  her  res- 
cue had  they  known!  How  they  would  ride 
after  her  when  they  got  the  news!  They  would 
overtake  her,  no  fear  of  that.  The  universe  it- 
self would  not  be  big  enough  to  hide  the  Half 
Breed  and  herself  from  the  pursuit  of  Sullivan 
and  Kennard.  One  or  both  of  them,  they  would 
find  her;  but  it  might  be,  she  thought  with  a 
shudder,  too  late.  If  it  came  to  that  they  would 
find  her  dead. 

She  thought,  almost  with  a  sort  of  awe,  of  the 
unbounded  temerity  of  the  man  who  rode  so 
jauntily  by  her  side  with  so  careless  and  indif- 
ferent an  air.  What  could  he  be  dreaming  of? 
How  could  he  dare?  What  madness  possessed 
him  to  invoke  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  the 
immortal  gods  when  such  instruments  of  ven- 
geance as  Kennard  and  Sullivan  were  at  hand. 
Throughout  the  wide  world  they  would  hunt 
him  down.  Go  where  he  would,  do  what  he 
might,  his  doom  sentence  was  written,  his  end 
was  certain. 

She  had  no  idea  of  where  she  was  to  be  taken, 
of  course,  although  she  guessed  that  it  would  be 

30 


IN  THE  RAPIDS 

somewhere  in  the  unexplored  canons  of  the  great 
mountain  range.  She  observed  that  their  im- 
mediate way  led  along  the  brink  of  their  own 
canon  and  she  marked  with  some  surprise  that 
they  turned  to  the  right,  the  northward,  and  pres- 
ently descended  to  the  level  of  the  stream  by  one 
of  the  transverse  ravines  which  connected  the 
rest  of  the  depression  with  the  upper  plateau. 

Now  for  all  his  habitual  insouciance,  his  con- 
genital recklessness  and  disregard  for  conse- 
quences, which  was  temperamental,  the  Half 
Breed  realized  keenly  enough  that  for  such  ac- 
tions as  the  murder  of  the  rancher  and  the  ab- 
duction of  his  daughter,  he  would  be  relentlessly 
pursued  by  the  keenest  of  trailers,  their  efforts 
stimulated  by  love  and  hatred.  Therefore,  he 
proposed  to  take  every  precaution  possible  to 
him  to  baffle  them,  to  throw  them  off  the  trail 
and  to  make  his  escape  with  his  lovely  quarry 
the  more  certain.  His  present  movements, 
therefore,  like  the  murder,  were  by  no  means 
the  result  of  chance  but  had  all  been  most  cun- 
ningly planned. 

The  stream  flowing  into  the  canon  widened 
where  they  had  arrived,  and  for  many  miles  it 

31 


THE  WEST  WIND 

was  practicable  for  a  canoe,  provided  its  paddler 
were  sufficiently  expert  and  sufficiently  daring 
to  attempt  the  descent  of  the  river.  The  cur- 
rent flowed  swiftly,  however,  and  there  were 
some  frightful  rapids  far  below,  through  which 
nobody  had  ever  passed. 

On  the  bank  the  two  horses  halted.  The  Half 
Breed  untied  her  feet,  lifted  the  woman  to  the 
ground,  tied  her  again  and  laid  her  in  a  half- 
recumbent  position  against  some  of  the  bowl- 
ders adjacent.  Then  he  unsaddled  both  the 
horses,  stepped  around  a  projecting  buttress,  and 
drew  forth  a  bark  canoe.  Fastening  it  to  the 
shore,  he  deposited  the  saddles  and  other  things 
he  had  brought  with  him  in  it.  Then  taking  the 
halters  of  the  horses  in  his  hand,  he  led  them 
across  the  river,  here  quiet  and  shallow,  and  dis- 
appeared with  them  up  a  smaller  canon  on  the 
other  side. 

The  woman  thought  at  once  that  he  intended 
to  turn  the  horses  loose  and  then  trust  himself 
and  her  to  the  canoe,  but  she  did  not  quite  divine 
the  extent  of  his  purpose.  He  had  a  better 
scheme  than  that.  He  was  gone  a  long  time,  it 
seemed  to  her,  during  which  she  prayed  that  the 

32 


IN  THE  RAPIDS 

meanest  and  poorest  of  her  father's  men  might 
by  some  happy  chance  come  upon  the  scene,  but 
nothing  happened.  The  silence  and  solitude 
were  unbroken  and  undisturbed  save  by  the 
ripple  of  the  waters  of  the  river. 

At  last  the  Half  Breed  reappeared  without 
the  horses,  more  quiet  perhaps  but  as  insouciant 
in  his  bearing  as  ever.  He  picked  her  up  gently 
enough  and  deposited  her  in  the  canoe. 

"I  might  untie  you,"  he  began  tentatively. 

"And  I  should  tear  the  canoe  to  pieces  with 
my  own  hands/'  she  interposed  swiftly. 

"Exactly,  therefore  you  must  remain  bound." 

He  cast  off  the  lashing  that  had  secured  the 
canoe  to  the  shore,  stepped  in  it,  seized  the  pad- 
dle and  shot  out  where  the  force  of  the  current 
took  the  boat  down  the  stream.  There  was  little 
more  for  him  to  do  after  that  than  was  required 
by  deft  steerage  to  keep  the  frail  vessel  from  the 
rocks  in  the  river.  He  sought  to  enliven  the 
journey  by  making  conversation,  to  which  she 
deigned  no  reply.  She  lay  forward  looking  aft; 
he  knelt  aft,  looking  forward,  and  wielded  the 
paddle.  Finding  her  obdurate  in  her  silence  he 
broke  into  little  snatches  of  song.  Becoming 

33 


THE  WEST  WIND 

bolder  as  the  rapid  current  bore  them  further 
from  the  ranch,  he  sang  louder  and  more  lightly. 

For  some  hours  they  ran  rapidly  down  the 
canon,  passing  through  several  rather  rough 
rapids,  with  no  further  mishap  than  a  wetting. 
When  the  sun  above  indicated  noon  he  beached 
the  canoe  and  opened  his  saddlebags,  producing 
food  and  drink.  Leaving  the  woman  still  in  the 
boat,  he  knelt  down  on  the  sand  by  her  side  and 
fed  her  like  a  baby. 

Her  first  instinct  had  been  to  refuse  to  eat  or 
drink.  She  had  locked  her  teeth  together  at  the 
first  thought  of  such  a  thing,  but  wiser  counsel 
prevailed.  She  realized  that  if  she  allowed  her- 
self to  grow  weak  and  faint  through  lack  of  food, 
she  would  be  more  completely  in  his  power  than 
ever,  and  although  it  was  poison  to  her,  and  from 
a  blood-stained  hand,  she  forced  herself  to  par- 
take of  what  he  gave  her.  She  showed  her 
quality,  her  rare  mettle,  in  that. 

"So,"  said  he  at  last,  as  she  finished  what  he 
gave  her,  "you  eat  out  of  my  hand  already  like 
a  child  or  a  dog.  It's  the  proper  attitude  for 
my  wife  that  is  to  be." 

To  this  she  vouchsafed  no  answer.     The  Half 

34 


IN  THE  RAPIDS 

Breed  didn't  seem  to  expect  any,  for  when  he 
thought  she  had  enough,  he  rose  and  looked 
down  the  river.  The  rapids  before  them  were 
the  worst  in  the  whole  of  the  long  wild  course 
of  the  mountain  stream.  They  were  filled  with 
rocks,  the  downward  plunge  was  tremendous, 
the  channel,  if  any  existed,  was  narrowed  in  by 
the  towering  walls  which  here  closely  ap- 
proached each  other.  There  was  no  way 
around  these  rapids,  no  ascent  to  the  top  of  the 
walls.  One  could  only  go  back  or  go  on.  To 
attempt  the  passage  seemed  almost  certain  death. 
Even  a  man  as  skillful,  as  self-reliant,  and  as  in- 
different apparently  to  danger  as  the  Half  Breed, 
could  not  face  it  without  thoughtful  apprehen- 
sion. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  am  about 
to  take  you  through  those  rapids." 

"I  am  glad,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  why?" 

"It  is  almost  certain  death.  No  one  has  ever 
gone  through  them.  Few  have  even  attempted 
it.  That 7s  why  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  try." 

"Aye,  we  may  die,"  he  continued. 

"I  had  rather  die  than  live  with  you." 

35 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"But  at  least,"  he  went  on  sweetly,  "we  shall 
'die  together." 

To  this  she  made  no  reply. 

"Now,  I  am  not  a  cruel  man,"  he  said;  "what 
I  have  done  has  been  for  love  of  you  and  to 
avenge  my  honor." 

"Your  honor!"  sneered  the  girl. 

"And  I  am  willing  to  give  you  a  chance  for 
your  life,"  he  went  on,  disregarding  her  biting 
words.  "It  is  a  slim  one,  I  grant  you,  but  as  I 
know  you  can  swim  I  will  unbind  your  hands 
and  feet,  and  then  if  we  go  over  or  smash  the 
canoe  on  one  of  the  rocks — why,  your  chance 
will  be  as  good  as  mine.  But  before  I  do  that 
you  must  promise  me  that  you  will  sit  quiet  in 
the  canoe  and  make  no  movement  whatever,  for 
the  slightest  motion  on  your  part  will  capsize  it. 
Will  you  give  me  your  word  to  do  that?" 

"No,"  answered  the  woman,  hotly. 

"Why,  you  are  a  fool,"  retorted  the  nettled 
man,  his  composure  visibly  disturbed.  "If  you 
really  want  to  capsize  the  canoe,  why  don't  you 
say  that  you  would  do  nothing  and  then  do  what 
you  please?" 

"When  I  give  my  word  I  keep  it,"  answered 

36 


IN  THE  RAPIDS 

the  girl,  "and  I  give  you  my  word  now  freely 
that  I  will  die  before  you  shall  harm  me." 

"Well,  we  can't  discuss  that  now,"  said  the 
Half  Breed  grimly,  "and  if  you  won't  promise 
to  do  what  I  ask,  you  must  lie  as  you  are  and 
take  your  chance." 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  a  moment  and 
then  with  some  of  the  saddle  gear  and  other 
things  he  wedged  her  tight  where  she  lay,  so  she 
could  make  no  motion  of  any  kind.  He  even 
drew  her  further  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
canoe,  closer  to  himself,  to  give  the  little  vessel 
greater  stability  by  this  human  ballast,  as  it  were. 
Then  he  shoved  the  boat  off  the  sand,  climbed 
into  the  stern,  seized  the  paddle  and  in  a  moment 
they  were  in  the  rapids. 

The  canoe,  caught  by  the  full  force  of  the  cur- 
rent, shot  forth  like  an  arrow  released  from  its 
bow,  but  no  arrow  ever  rocked  or  swayed  so 
fearfully  as  did  that  boat.  It  rose  and  fell  with 
the  tremendous  current  that  heaved  up  the  water 
in  huge  masses  that  might  have  been  likened  to 
waves  of  the  sea,  except  that  no  wave  was  ever 
so  confused  in  its  motion  as  were  those  towering 
on  either  side  of  the  frail  walls  of  birch,  or  toss- 

37 


THE  WEST  WIND 

ing  it  about  like  a  leaf  before  some  wanton  wind. 
Spray  flew  over  the  canoe  like  sheets  of  rain. 

The  woman  lay  on  her  back  staring  up  at  the 
thin  strip  of  blue  beyond  the  canon  walls,  or  at 
the  frightful  precipices  on  either  side,  or  glanc- 
ing at  the  form  of  the  Half  Breed  bending  for- 
ward, wielding  his  paddle  with  iron  strength  and 
skill  and  with  a  nice  adjustment  of  balance,  his 
hair  blown  back  by  the  fierce  wind  of  their  wild 
downward  rush  as  they  leaped  through  the  mouth 
of  the  canon. 

Loathing  him,  hating  him  as  she  did,  there 
was  a  certain  amount  of  thrilling  admiration  ex- 
torted by  his  skill  and  courage.  Such  manage- 
ment was  magnificent.  He  was  doing  the  im- 
possible. A  touch  here,  a  movement  there,  all 
that  could  be  done;  yet  it  kept  them  afloat  and 
alive. 

They  were  in  the  thick  of  it  now;  yet,  save  for 
the  spray,  the  canoe  had  shipped  little  water. 
Not  a  wave  had  yet  broken  upon  them.  They 
were  not  to  be  so  fortunate  hereafter.  One 
mighty  wave  curled  up  before  them.  By  bend- 
ing her  head  backward  the  woman  could  see  it. 
They  rose  to  meet  it  but  not  swiftly  enough. 

38 


IN  THE  RAPIDS 

With  a  crash  like  thunder  it  broke  and  fell,  a 
vast  liquid  mountain,  smiting  her  on  the  chest 
like  a  trip-hammer.  She  had  only  time  to  real- 
ize that  they  were  now  in  the  very  vortex  of 
the  flood,  the  gateway  as  it  were  of  the  monu- 
tain  pass,  when  consciousness  left  her. 

The  canoe,  half  filled  with  water,  still  floated. 
The  blow  of  the  great  wave  had,  however, 
wrenched  the  paddle  from  the  Half  Breed's 
hand.  The  boat  was  no  longer  under  control. 
It  swerved  wildly,  crashing  against  a  rock. 
There  was  a  ripping,  tearing  sound.  The  canoe 
hung  poised  for  a  moment  and  then  the  force  of 
the  current  hurled  it  crossways  toward  the  other 
shore.  The  speed  with  which  it  was  flung  from 
side  to  side  alone  kept  it  from  sinking.  It  was 
like  a  ball  thrown  by  gigantic  hands. 

Half  blinded  and  half  drowned,  the  man  real- 
ized instantly  what  had  happened.  He  had  fol- 
lowed the  course  of  the  river  oftentimes  on  the 
shore  far  above.  He  knew  that  they  had  passed 
the  danger  point,  and  traveling  at  the  pace  they 
did  would  shortly  be  in  comparatively  still 
waters.  So  soon  as  the  motion  of  the  canoe  was 
checked,  however,  it  would  sink. 

39 


THE  WEST  WIND 

Dashing  the  water  from  his  eyes,  he  stared 
eagerly  over  to  the  nearer  shore.  If  he  had  had 
his  paddle  he  could  have  made  it.  He  could 
easily  make  it  alone  as  it  was.  Should  he  try 
it? 

He  looked  at  the  senseless  form  of  the  woman, 
for  whom  he  had  dared  so  much,  and  resolved 
that  he  would  save  her — for  himself !  He  leaned 
over,  seized  her  by  the  lashing  that  bound  her 
feet,  rolled  out  of  the  canoe,  dragging  her  with 
him,  and  started  swimming  for  the  shore. 

The  inert  heavy  mass  of  the  woman  was  a 
terrible  handicap  in  that  still  tremendous  cur- 
rent. If  she  had  been  conscious,  however,  and 
had  struggled  with  him,  or  clasped  him  around 
the  neck  it  would  have  been  worse.  Again  and 
again  in  his  fierce  battle  with  the  waves  as  he 
was  swung  about  hither  and  thither,  he  was  on 
the  point  of  letting  her  go.  Again  and  again  he 
resisted  the  temptation,  until  by  and  by,  after  a 
struggle  that  left  him  speechless,  gasping  and 
broken,  his  feet  touched  the  sand.  He  stag- 
gered onward  a  few  paces,  drew  her  up  by  his 
side  and  fell  prostrate. 

By  some  freak  of  fortune  the  ripped  and  torn 
40 


IN  THE  RAPIDS 

canoe  was  cast  ashore  near  them,  its  contents 
water  soaked  but  otherwise  intact.  To  this,, 
however,  the  Half  Breed  was  oblivious.  He  lay 
panting,  striving  to  recover  his  breath,  until  ai 
tall  form  stepping  between  him  and  the  sun 
caused  a  shadow  to  fall  across  his  face.  He 
opened  his  eyes  and  stared  up  into  the  stern, 
grim  face  of  an  Indian ;  tall,  stately,  magnificent, 
painted  for  battle,  his  black  hair  crowned  with 
the  great  war  bonnet  of  the  Sioux. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  RANCHMAN,  THE  GIRL  AND 
THE  SOLDIER 

BIG  Patrick  Sullivan  had  no  premonition  as 
to  what  awaited  him  at  the  ranch  house  as 
he  leisurely  rode  upward  to  the  top  of  the  hill 
about  ten  o'clock  that  bright  summer  morning. 
His  name  stamped  him  as  Irish,  his  disposi- 
tion, bearing  and  temper,  especially  the  last, 
were  undoubtedly  Celtic.  And  his  facial  ap- 
pearance, his  dark  hair,  fair  skin  and  brilliant 
blue  eyes  could  only  have  come  from  the  Emer- 
ald Isle.  But  his  Irish  heritage  was  one  of  the 
distant  past.  It  showed  the  persistency  of  his 
racial  stock,  by  the  way.  For  well  nigh  two 
hundred  years  his  people  had  been  denizens  of 
Pennsylvania  and  the  further  West.  The  family 
had  been  a  useful  one  to  the  United  States.  Its 
sons  had  filled  positions  of  prominence  in  their 
day,  in  the  army  and  navy  in  the  several  wars 
of  the  country,  being  all  of  them  natural  fight- 

42 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

ers,  of  course,  and  one  of  them  had  even  risen 
to  be  a  member  of  Congress  from  his  native  state, 
when  it  meant  much  more  to  be  a  member  of 
that  exalted  body  than  it  does  now. 

There  had  been  a  roving  strain  through  them 
all,  however,  which  had  broken  the  trammels 
of  convention  at  intervals,  and  had  sent  the  par- 
ticular scion  of  the  house  in  whose  veins  the 
strain  ran  most  swiftly,  careering  all  over  the 
world  on  all  sorts  of  quests,  aimless  or  other- 
wise, but  always  out-of-the-way.  This  vagrom 
disposition  had  brought  Patrick,  or  "Big  Pat," 
as  he  was  called  by  every  cowboy  under  him, 
to  the  ranch  in  the  foothills  of  the  Big  Horn 
Range.  There  a  power  stronger  even  than  the 
wanderlust  had  constrained  him  to  plant  his 
stakes  permanently  on  the  spot  in  which  he  is 
now  to  be  found. 

Sullivan  was  a  man  of  herculean  strength  and 
gigantic  build.  He  could  ride  anything  that 
was  big  enough  for  him  to  ride  and  that  could 
carry  him.  He  got  along  with  the  cows,  who 
have  to  be  handled  like  children,  just  as  he 
would  have  got  along  with  children  themselves; 
if  Providence  had  brought  him  in  contact  with 

43 


THE  WEST  WIND 

any.  Indeed,  Amy  Benham  was  not  more  than 
a  child  when  she  first  burst  upon  the  astonished 
vision  of  Mr.  Sullivan;  but  that  is  a  digression 
of  which  more  later.  He  could  handle  men, 
too,  and  bad  ones  if  necessary  about  as  well  as 
good  ones.  Those  rare  qualities  soon  brought 
him  to  the  notice  of  his  employer,  old  Colonel 
Benham,  who,  with  his  young  daughter,  con- 
stituted the  family  that  owned  the  ranch  nestling 
under  the  shadow  of  snow-clad  Cloud  Peak 
where  the  sun  sank  behind  it  to  the  westward. 

From  a  common  cow-puncher  Sullivan  gradu- 
ally climbed  to  the  position  of  the  Colonel's 
right-hand  man.  And  as  foreman  and  manager 
he  was  simply  invaluable.  Contrary  to  the  us- 
ual habit  of  his  race  and  family,  he  developed 
a  thrifty  turn  of  mind  and  through  the  Colonel's 
kindness  and  generosity  at  last  found  himself  the 
owner  of  a  comparatively  small  though  still  con- 
siderable share  in  the  great  and  prosperous 
ranch. 

Sullivan  would  have  given  his  share,  and  in- 
deed the  whole  ranch  with  everything  pertain- 
ing thereto,  had  he  owned  it,  for  the  least  pos- 
sible proprietary  claim  to  Amy  Benham  herself. 

44 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

It  was  she  who  kept  him  there.  She  was  the 
force  or  power  which  had  transformed  him — 
Cymon  and  Iphigenia,  again!  They  were 
ardent  lovers,  these  passionate  Irishmen.  From 
the  first  he  had  been  fascinated  by  her;  he  had 
vowed  and  declared  himself  her  bond  slave. 
For  her  he  gave  up  his  hours  of  play  with  the 
men.  He  taught  her  to  ride,  to  shoot,  to  hunt, 
to  fish,  to  swim,  and  throw  the  lariat.  He  even 
imparted  to  her— strange  knowledge  for  a 
woman — what  he  knew  about  the  habits  of  the 
cattle  upon  the  thousand  hills  which  belonged 
to  him  and  her  father  jointly.  Unusual  upbring- 
ing for  a  young  girl! 

The  fate  of  the  growing  girl  might  have  been 
sad  indeed  had  that  been  her  only  education. 
Women  there  were  none  other  on  the  ranch. 
Because  he  had  suddenly  lost  the  wife  he  adored, 
Colonel  Benham  had  buried  himself  and  his 
daughter  in  that  out-of-the-way  country.  Be- 
cause he  had  New  England  thrift  in  his  blood 
he  had  turned  that  self-burial  to  good  account 
by  engaging  in  cattle  raising,  when  such  a  busi- 
ness was  as  full  of  possibilities  of  success  as  any 
undertaking  in  the  West. 

45 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  Colonel  had  himself  superintended  the 
early  education  of  his  daughter  in  arts  and  let- 
ters, and  the  refinements — the  humanities  of 
life — but  he  had  been  too  well  brought  up  him- 
self not  to  understand  the  necessity  for  other 
companionship  for  her.  So  at  suitable  age  he 
had  sent  the  young  hoyden  to  a  famous  school 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  River.  The  girls, 
with  whom  she  was  thrown  in  contact,  vastly  im- 
pressed by  the  variety  and  multiplicity  of  her 
accomplishments  in  fields  which  they  had  not 
dreamed  the  sex  could  enter,  had  christened  her, 
half  in  derision,  half  in  affection,  "The  West 
Wind,"  and  "The  West  Wind"  she  had  re- 
mained; even  on  the  ranch,  when  the  news  of 
so  apposite  a  title  blew  that  way,  as  it  soon  did 
in  her  own  letters  to  her  father. 

The  Colonel,  Big  Sullivan,  Wing  Loo,  the 
faithful  Chinese  cook,  and  in  fact  every  cow- 
puncher  on  the  ranch,  every  horse  which  might 
be  considered  gentle  enough  to  submit  to  a  wom- 
an's touch,  lived  for  the  yearly  return  to  her  home 
of  the  daughter  of  the  house.  Gala  days  indeed 
were  those  of  summer  when  she  and  all  the  men 
on  the  ranch  enjoyed  her  vacation  together. 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

Sullivan,  whose  affection  at  the  beginning  had 
been  half  paternal,  found  himself  at  last  as  she 
blossomed  into  young  womanhood,  wholly  in 
love  with  her.  At  the  same  time  he  realized 
that  the  girl  was  growing  farther  from  him  with 
every  passing  hour,  with  every  added  bit  of  ex- 
perience, with  every  font  of  knowledge  of  which 
she  drank,  with  every  new  association  in  the 
larger  world.  As  a  child  she  had  looked  up  to 
him.  He  had  been  the  very  ideal  of  her  little 
girlhood.  Now  it  was  different. 

She  liked  him  almost  more  than  any  one  else 
even  now,  in  a  way  she  even  loved  him,  but  not 
in  the  way  he  would  have  desired.  There  was 
no  reason,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  that  he 
could  see  why  she  should  not  love  him  in  that 
way.  They  were  not  lacking  in  assurance  and 
self-confidence,  these  Sullivans.  He  was  good 
to  look  at,  at  least  women  had  told  him  so  often 
enough  before  for  him  to  believe  it,  and  scarcely 
more  than  a  dozen  years  older  than  she.  Some 
day  he  would  be  a  very  rich  man  if  the  cattle 
business  did  not  utterly  go  to  pieces.  On  the 
score  of  education,  he  was,  of  course,  sadly 
deficient.  But  education,  book  learning  as  they 

47 


THE  WEST  WIND 

phrased  it,  did  not  count  for  so  very  much  in  the 
West  in  those  days. 

There  were  therefore  plenty  of  reasons  why 
she  might  have  loved  him;  only  one  why  she 
did  not,  if  reason  may  be  sought  for  so  strange 
.and  ungovernable  a  thing  as  a  woman's  inclina- 
tions and  affections.  That  cause  was  not  inani- 
mate; it  had  gender  and  personality  set  off  very 
charmingly  by  the  blue  uniform  of  the  United 
States.  In  a  word,  it  was  another  man. 

Captain  Joseph  B.  Kennard  had  not  been  a 
cadet  at  West  Point  when  Amy  Benham  had 
been  a  student  across  the  river.  He  had  been 
instructor  in  the  department  of  Cavalry,  hav- 
ing been  ordered  East  from  his  regiment  to  re- 
cuperate from  several  years  of  hard  campaign- 
ing in  which  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  three 
things  a  soldier  prized  above  all  other  things: 
an  early  promotion,  a  wound  in  action  and  a 
medal  of  honor  for  gallant  conduct.  He  had 
more  quickly  than  usual  risen  to  command  his 
troop,  and  was  still  young  enough  to  be  an  ideal 
lover — dashing,  gallant,  scarred,  distinguished  1 

He  had  made  her  acquaintance  at  her  father's 
instance.  He  was  the  son  of  an  old  Civil  War 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

comrade  of  Colonel  Benham's,  and  in  compliance 
with  a  letter  from  the  father,  he  had  made  haste 
to  call  upon  the  young  girl,  so  soon  as  she  had 
been  domiciled  in  the  school  over  the  river. 
With  her  father's  permission,  and  the  sanction 
of  the  school  authorities  of  course,  who  were 
impressed  with  his  rank  rather  than  his  youth, 
he  had  taken  her  across  the  river  many  times 
to  one  brilliant  function  or  another  at  the  Point. 
As  he  came  to  know  her  he  had  been  charmed 
with  the  girl's  splendid  beauty,  her  frankness, 
her  generally  free  and  independent  spirit,  her 
girlish,  graceful  carriage,  her  keen  bright  mind, 
trained  in  the  stimulating  school  of  Nature — he 
thought  she  was  well  named  "The  West  Wind!" 
—and  almost  from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her 
he  had  loved  her. 

Ninety-nine  girls  out  of  a  hundred  would  have 
succumbed  to  the  fascinations  of  the  gray-coated 
cadets  who  swarmed  about  her  in  scores  so  soon 
as  they  had  the  opportunity.  Amy  Benham 
was  of  the  one  in  a  hundred  class  of  girls.  She 
had  been  at  first  immensely  flattered  by  the  at- 
tentions of  this  distinguished  soldier  whose  rec- 
ord she  very  speedily  learned,  and  then  there 

49 


THE  WEST  WIND 

had  been  a  congeniality  between  the  two  through 
their  common  knowledge  of,  and  their  common 
love  for  the  great  West,  in  which  his  regiment 
had  been  stationed  practically  continuously  since 
his  graduation. 

On  account  of  his  age  and  rank,  and  the  sanc- 
tion of  her  father,  great  liberties  and  privileges 
were  allowed  him.  He  brought  horses  across 
the  river,  and  when  occasion  served  they  took 
long  rides  together.  He  became  more  and 
more  in  love  every  minute,  and  she  at  last  awak- 
ened to  the  fact  that  her  feelings  matched  his 
own. 

He  had  thought  it  proper  at  that  time  not  to 
make  any  formal  avowal  of  his  affections.  It 
seemed  to  him  like  taking  undue  advantage  of 
youth  and  inexperience.  He  had  kept  tight 
rein  over  himself,  therefore,  and  he  fondly  im- 
agined that  she  was  ignorant  of  his  passion.  The 
two  years  which  she  had  required  for  the  com- 
pletion of  the  studies  she  had  elected  to  pursue 
would  soon  be  over.  Upon  her  graduation  he 
would  declare  himself,  and  at  once  seek  the  per- 
mission of  her  father  to  make  her  his  wife.  He 
knew  that  the  girl  was  a  great  heiress,  but  that 

50 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

did  not  especially  trouble  him,  for  in  addition  to 
his  pay,  he  was  possessed  of  a  small  but  suffi- 
cient fortune  of  his  own.  And  he  was  too  sensi- 
ble to  let  any  foolish  consideration  of  that  kind 
stand  in  the  way  of  their  mutual  happiness  if  she 
loved  him. 

Fate,  however,  took  things  in  her  own  hand. 
Fate  has  a  habit  of  doing  that — else  she  would 
not  be  Fate!  Two  months  before  Amy  Ben- 
ham's  graduation,  which  was  to  take  place  early 
in  June,  he  was  ordered  to  his  regiment.  The 
Colonel  with  the  Headquarters  and  four  troops 
were  to  be  stationed  at  Fort  McCullough.  His 
was  one  of  the  four  in  the  Headquarter  bat- 
talion. 

He  would  have  welcomed  the  order  if  it  had 
come  two  months  later,  because  of  all  the  mili- 
tary posts  in  the  United  States  that  was  the  near- 
est to  where  she  lived.  Now  it  was  a  matter 
of  temporary  regret  at  least,  for  that  program 
which  had  depended  upon  her  graduation  would 
have  to  be  abandoned  and  another  decided  upon 
later. 

He  could  have  spoken  before  he  bade  her 
good-by,  but  he  was  a  man  of  fixed  and  stubborn 


THE  WEST  WIND 

determination,  and  he  declined  to  do  so.  He 
would  keep  to  his  original  resolution.  The 
farewells  between  them,  therefore,  were  no  more 
than  might  have  been  expected  between  two  very 
good  friends.  Amy  Benham  experienced  a  feel- 
ing of  disappointment  at  this  restraint,  but  there 
was  nothing  she  could  do,  and  in  a  spirit  of  pride 
she  strove  to  put  the  matter  out  of  her  mind. 
Yet,  during  the  long  journey  across  the  conti- 
nent after  her  graduation,  the  fact  that  she  would 
soon  see  him  was  more  impressed  upon  her  heart 
and  higher  in  her  thoughts  than  that  at  the  end 
of  the  ride  she  would  be  clasped  in  the  arms 
of  her  father — "Thus  it  is  our  daughters  leave 
us!" 

Sullivan,  as  he  invariably  did,  met  her  at  the 
station.  Her  father,  he  said,  had  been  ailing 
somewhat  and  he  himself  had  come  down  with 
but  one  faithful  follower  to  fetch  her.  He  had 
brought  with  him  a  light  spring  wagon  and  a 
couple  of  the  best  saddle  horses  beside,  so  that 
she  could  ride  or  drive  at  her  pleasure  during  the 
long  journey  of  something  over  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  which  separated  her  from  the  ranch 
to  the  northward. 

52 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

She  was  always  happy  when  she  left  the  stuffy 
Pullman  and  got  out  on  the  broad  prairies,  with 
her  favorite  horse  beneath  her.  She  was  hap- 
pier this  time  than  ever.  For  her  school  days 
were  over  and  she  was  coming  back  to  enter 
upon  the  serious  business  of  life,  so  far  as  love, 
or  even  life  itself,  could  be  considered  serious 
to  nineteen  years.  And  that  serious  business  was 
simply  her  coming  to  the  man  she  adored  and 
who  adored  her  as  well.  She  was  so  gay  and  so 
care-free  that  Sullivan,  who  knew  little  or  noth- 
ing about  Kennard,  was  on  the  point  of  declar- 
ing himself.  They  were  a  very  hopeful,  opti- 
mistic, confident  race,  these  Sullivans.  Some 
modesty,  or  timidity,  however,  not  natural 
surely,  but  recently  acquired  in  her  joyous,  buoy- 
ant, commanding  presence  restrained  him,  luck- 
ily for  him. 

It  was  strange  also  that  Sullivan  had  no  sus- 
picions of  Kennard.  The  big  ranchman  had 
often  met  the  officers  of  the  Post,  who  were  fond 
of  riding  over  to  the  ranch,  sometimes  with  their 
wives  and  children.  They  were  always  wel- 
come there,  although  it  was  understood  that  Col- 
onel Benham,  who  had  aged  surprisingly  in  the 

53 


THE  WEST  WIND 

last  few  years,  returned  no  visits.  Sullivan  did 
not  care  much  for  women  if  they  were  married, 
and  he  had  some  of  the  Irishman's  contempt  for 
the  government  and  a  great  deal  of  the  free  and 
easy  rancher's  scorn  of  the  disciplined  soldier. 
He  generally  made  himself  scarce  when  there 
were  guests  at  the  ranch,  which  was  foolish  from 
one  point  of  view,  for  if  he  had  wanted  to  know 
the  situation  he  should  have  put  himself  in  the 
way  of  obtaining  the  information.  However,  his 
blissful  ignorance  saved  him  many  a  heart  pang 
which  was  just  as  well  in  the  end. 

After  a  long  ride  of  several  days  and  several 
stops  for  the  night  at  hospitable  ranch  houses, 
they  reached  their  own  ranch  late  in  the  evening. 
In  the  joy  of  seeing  her  beloved  father,  for  the 
moment  the  girl  actually  forgot  the  younger 
man.  The  evening  she  spent  with  her  father 
alone  she  would  look  back  upon  gratefully  in 
after  years  as  one  of  the  happiest  in  her  life. 
For  that  night,  at  least,  age  not  youth  would  be 
served,  and  she  put  out  of  her  head  until  she 
was  alone  in  her  chamber  everything  but  her 
good  old  father. 

The  work  of  the  ranch  had  to  go  on  whatever 

54 


RANCHMAN,  GIRL,  SOLDIER 

happened,  and  Sullivan  had  taken  his  men  and 
ridden  down  into  the  valley  before  daybreak. 
He  had  an  all-day  job  for  the  outfit,  and  he  left 
instructions  for  Wing  Loo,  the  cook,  to  prepare 
something  to  eat  for  them  and  bring  it  down  in 
the  chuck  wagon  about  eight  o'clock.  It  was 
this  unusual  absence  of  both  the  Chinaman  and 
the  other  man  who  ordinarily  remained  about 
the  place  to  attend  to  whatever  duties  might 
arise,  that  had  given  the  Half  Breed  the  oppor- 
tunity of  which  he  had  made  so  terrible  a  use 
that  morning. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TRAILERS 

SULLIVAN  came  up  the  hill  whistling  like 
a  boy  in  the  joy  of  his  heart.  The  beautiful 
late  spring  morning,  the  air  still  cool  and  fresh 
at  the  high  level  at  which  the  range  was  located, 
the  bright  sunshine,  the  delightful  odor  of  the 
pines  on  the  ridges,  and  the  thought  of  the  girl 
he  loved  and  whom  he  had  begun  to  dream  that 
he  might  sometime  marry,  filled  his  soul  with 
satisfaction.  Yet  when  through  the  avenue  of 
pines  he  turned  into  the  gate  that  marked  the 
home  enclosure,  he  felt  that  there  was  an  un- 
wonted silence  about  the  huge,  rambling  log 
cabin  of  many  rooms  which  Colonel  Benham  had 
built,  and  to  which  he  had  added  as  occasion 
needed,  which  chilled  his  gayety  and  filled  him 
with  vague  alarm. 

Usually  the  old  Colonel  could  be  found  seated 
on  the  low  porch  or  perhaps  on  one  of  the 
benches  under  the  pines,  smoking  or  reading,  or 

56 


THE  TRAILERS 

when  his  daughter  was  at  home  as  to-day,  chat- 
ting with  her.  But  no  one  was  visible  to  the 
uneasy  newcomer.  Certainly  the  day  was  too 
fair  and  sweet  to  keep  any  one  indoors  and  Amy 
should  have  been  outside  as  well  as  he.  Sulli- 
van swept  the  ranch  house  with  eager  glance, 
but  he  saw  and  heard  nothing.  He  dismounted 
hurriedly  and  stepped  toward  the  house,  in  spite 
of  himself  the  feeling  of  apprehension,  not  to 
say  alarm,  growing  in  his  breast  as  he  quick- 
ened his  pace. 

As  he  mounted  the  two  or  three  steps  to  the 
broad  porch,  he  caught  sight  of  something  that 
made  him  start  with  surprised  alarm.  It  was 
a  broad  red  smear  across  the  clean,  well-scrubbed 
floor.  It  formed  a  well-defined  trail  leading 
from  the  end  of  the  porch  where  beneath  the 
trees  beyond  the  house  was  the  bench  which  was 
most  affected  by  the  old  man,  into  the  dark  and 
silent  doorway. 

Sullivan  bent  down  and  examined  it.  It  was 
blood,  a  trail  of  blood,  not  dropped  from  a 
wound,  but  caused  by  dragging  some  bleeding 
object.  These  things  he  comprehended  in  an  in- 
stant. He  rose  to  his  feet,  crying: 

57 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Miss  Amy,  for  God's  sake,  where  are  you? 
What  has  happened?" 

He  did  n't  stop  with  that,  for  as  he  spoke  he 
fairly  leaped  toward  the  door  of  the  house.  As 
he  entered  the  big  living  room,  he  almost  fell 
over  a  body.  One  glance  told  him  who  it  was. 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed,  bending  over  it. 

He  had  feared  at  first  that  it  was  the  woman 
he  loved;  although  his  heart  was  riven  at  the 
death  of  his  old  friend  and  employer,  there  was 
relief  in  the  knowledge  that  it  was  not  she. 

The  Colonel's  body  was  lying  on  its  back. 
Sullivan  had  seen  gunshot  wounds  enough  to 
know  from  a  single  glance  that  he  had  been  hit 
in  the  back  of  the  head  with  a  bullet  that  had 
mushroomed  as  it  penetrated  and  had  torn  out 
his  face  at  its  exit.  The  same  glance  showed 
him  that  the  Colonel  was  past  all  help  or  con- 
sideration. The  same  second  brought  Amy 
again  into  his  head.  The  girl — where  was  she? 
Why  had  this  murder  been  done?  Who  had 
done  it? 

"Miss  Amy,"  he  called,  "where  are  you?" 

A  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  was  slowly 
and  cautiously  opened  and  a  yellow-faced  in- 

58 


THE  TRAILERS 

dividual  dressed  in  Chinese  garments  stuck  his 
head  timorously  through  the  opening.  In  a 
stride  the  American  had  him  by  the  arm,  shak- 
ing him  as  the  wind  shakes  a  leaf. 

"Who  did  this?"  cried  Sullivan.  "Where's 
Miss  Amy?" 

"Me  no  sabe,  me  come  back  flind  Colonel  allee 
samee  dead.  Me  dlagged  him  here.  Me  flaid." 

"But  the  girl,  where  is  she?" 

"Colonel  allee  samee  'lonee,"  answered  Wing 
Loo,  rolling  his  eyes  frightfully. 

Sullivan  clapped  his  hands  to  his  head  to  think 
but  could  make  nothing  of  the  situation  then. 

"Here,"  he  said  at  last,  despairing  of  getting 
anything  out  of  the  Chinaman,  who  was  evi- 
dently frightened  to  death. 

He  stooped  over  the  dead  man,  took  him  by 
the  shoulders,  and  with  the  Chinaman's  aid,  to- 
gether they  lifted  him  and  carried  him  across 
the  hall  and  laid  him  on  his  bed  in  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  covering  him  with  a  sheet. 

"Now,"  said  Sullivan,  whose  head  was  throb- 
bing almost  to  bursting,  "show  me  where  you 
found  him." 

Without  a  word  the  Chinaman  went  out  the 

59 


THE  WEST  WIND 

door,  crossed  the  porch,  and  pointed  to  the  spot 
in  front  of  the  bench. 

Sullivan  was  not  without  some  ability  in  the 
lore  of  the  trail.  He  got  down  on  his  knees  and 
scrutinized  the  ground  in  front  of  the  bench. 
When  the  Colonel  had  been  struck  from  behind, 
he  had  risen  and  dug  his  heels  into  the  loam  of 
the  path.  The  grass  at  the  distance  of  six  feet 
from  the  heel  marks  was  crushed  and  bloody. 
It  was  evident  what  had  happened. 

"He  has  been  shot  in  the  back  of  the  head. 
What  an  end  for  a  brave  man,"  he  muttered. 

Wing  Loo  nodded  his  head. 

"Where  did  you  leave  Miss  Amy?  Where 
was  she  when  you  drove  off  for  the  field?" 

"Alice  samee  on  blench  by  father,"  answered 
Wing  Loo,  pointing. 

"She  has  n't  been  shot,  that  is  clear,"  con- 
tinued Sullivan,  scanning  the  ground.  "Who 
could  have  done  it?  And  what  has  happened 
to  her?" 

"Colonel  he  say  last  week  to  Half  Bleed  man 
he  kick  him  off  place  allee  samee  he  died  make 
Missy  he  squaw.  Me  heard  tlalk  thlu  windlow 
there." 

60 


THE  TRAILERS 

"Girot!  That  Half  Breed  hound!"  cried 
Sullivan.  "Could  he  have  done  it?" 

Followed  by  the  Chinaman  he  ran  around  to 
the  right  toward  the  back  of  the  house  which 
was  built,  as  to  one  side  at  least,  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  canon.  Sure  enough,  from  a  con- 
venient branch  there  hung  a  long  knotted  rope 
dangling  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  stream. 

"He  roped  that  branch,"  exclaimed  Sullivan 
to  the  other,  "climbed  up,  shot  the  Colonel  and 
then  made  off,  but  what  has  he  done  with  the 
girl?  Taken  her  off  with  him,  damn  him!" 

In  a  growing,  burning  fever  of  anxiety  and 
impatience  he  went  back  to  the  house  for  further 
inspection.  On  the  side  opposite  that  where 
the  Colonel  had  been  shot,  he  found  traces  of 
horses.  Also  evidence  on  the  grass  where  a 
woman  had  fallen,  which  would  scarcely  have 
been  apparent  to  a  less  practiced  eye. 

"He  roped  her  here,  curse  him,"  he  cried  pas- 
sionately, "and  then  threw  her  down — " 

At  this  moment  his  eye  fell  upon  another 
form  riding  up  the  far-off  slope  of  the  foothill 
toward  the  ranch  house.  He  was  a  keen-sighted 
man  and  he  recognized  him  at  once  as  old  Bud 

61 


THE  WEST  WIND 

Meekins.  Meekins,  half  hunter,  half  prospec- 
tor, was  a  veteran  frontiersman  who  made  him- 
self generally  useful  and  agreeable  to  the  sundry 
scattered  inhabitants  of  the  territory,  and  was 
heartily  welcome  everywhere.  Chance  or  Prov- 
idence had  brought  him  there  that  day  most  op- 
portunely. He  was  the  best  trailer  in  Wyom- 
ing and  Sullivan  would  have  instant  need  of 
him. 

"Hi,  Bud,"  he  called,  waving  his  hat,  "come 
here  quick,  for  God's  sake!" 

There  was  that  in  the  cattleman's  voice  that 
appraised  the  wanderer  that  something  serious 
had  happened.  He  put  the  spurs  to  his  bronco 
and  in  a  few  minutes  was  standing  by  the  ranch- 
man's side. 

"What's  up?" 

"There  's  hell  to  pay,"  was  the  terse  answer. 
"Colonel  Benham  has  been  murdered,  I  think, 
by  that  damned  Half  Breed,  Girot,  and  Miss 
Amy  is  gone." 

He  choked  a  little  over  the  name. 

"Why  I  didn't  know  she  was  back  from 
school." 

"She  came  last  night." 
62 


THE  TRAILERS 

"What  makes  you  suspect  the  Half  Breed?" 

"Wing  Loo  heard  the  Colonel  threaten  to 
kick  him  off  the  place  if  he  made  any  attempt 
to  pay  any  attention  to  the  girl.  The  Colonel 
was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and 
he  came  up  the  canon  back  of  the  house,  threw 
his  lariat  over  a  tree  and  climbed  up  and  shot 
the  old  man  in  the  back,  and  then  he  took  the 
girl  away.  Look  here,  what  do  you  make  of 
that?" 

He  pointed  to  the  grass  and  to  the  marks  of 
the  horses'  hoofs. 

"He  's  made  a  trail  that  we  can  follow  'til 
doomsday  if  it  don't  rain,"  answered  the  hunter, 
looking  down  and  inspecting  it  closely.  "What 
hosses  is  missin'?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  just  got  here,"  answered 
Sullivan. 

"Well,  the  sooner  we  can  git  on  his  trail  the 
better,"  Meekins  replied. 

"I  '11  run  him  down,"  cried  the  big  cattleman 
passionately,  "if  I  have  to  follow  him  to  the  end 
of  the  world!" 

"I  'm  with  you,"  answered  the  old  hunter 
promptly,  "but  we  're  wastin'  time.  Git  some 


THE  WEST  WIND 

of  the  boys  up,  or  I  '11  go  down  and  summon 
them  for  you." 

"No,  you  stay  here  and  make  what  you  can 
out  of  it.  I  know  where  the  boys  are  and  can 
get  'em  quicker  'n  you  could.  You  get  some 
fresh  horses  ready  for  us,  too." 

Sullivan  turned  as  he  spoke  and  leaped  on  the 
back  of  his  horse,  still  comparatively  fresh,  and 
the  moment  after  was  thundering  down  the  hill. 
In  an  incredibly  short  time,  it  seemed  to  the  old 
trapper,  he  was  back  with  a  bunch  of  wildly 
excited  and  infuriated  cowboys  at  his  heels. 
Without  orders,  they  rushed  into  the  corral,  each 
man  selecting  the  best  available  horse  he  could 
come  at  for  the  long  journey.  They  saddled  up 
and  then  swarmed  into  the  bunk  house  and  came 
back  with  Winchesters  in  their  hands  and  Colts 
at  their  hips.  Meanwhile  Wing  Loo  had  pre- 
pared immense  quantities  of  bread  and  meat, 
which  the  boys  ate  voraciously  as  they  worked, 
or  stuffed  into  their  saddlebags  for  the  journey. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Meekins,  when  they  were 
ready  to  start,  "the  trail  leads  straight  along  the 
bluff.  Where  it  goes  to  no  one  can  tell  yit." 

"That's  what  we  propose  to   find  out  and 


THE  TRAILERS 

pretty  tolerable  quick/7  said  Johnson,  one  of  the 
older  cowboys. 

"We  '11  make  short  work  of  him  if  we  ketch 
him,"  said  another. 

"God  help  him!"  cried  a  third. 

"God  help  him  if  he  has  harmed  that  girl. 
The  murder  of  the  old  man  is  bad  enough,  but 
— well — I  reckon  we  '11  know  how  to  deal  with 
him  when  we  get  him,"  said  Sullivan.  "The 
thing  to  do  is  to  get  him.  Now,  then,  let 's  get 
away.  First,  two  of  you  will  have  to  stay  here 
at  the  house,  and  one  of  you  will  have  to  ride 
over  to  the  fort  and  notify  Colonel  Wainwright 
of  the  murder." 

He  rapidly  designated  three  men  for  this  work. 
They  did  not  relish  being  left  behind,  but  Sulli- 
van was  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  be 
obeyed,  and  they  did  not  dare  to  question  his 
commands.  The  man  whose  business  it  was  to 
notify  Colonel  Wainwright,  turned  without  an- 
other word  and  galloped  down  the  slope. 

"Afore  we  start,"  said  Meekins,  "I  think  it 
only  right  to  tell  you  that  there  's  rumors  that  the 
Sioux  an'  the  Cheyennes  are  out.  They  Ve  been 
restless  all  spring  an'  I  guess  they  're  goin'  to 

65 


THE  WEST  WIND 

take  advantage  of  the  pleasant  weather  to  go  on 
the  warpath  an'  raise  a  little  hell  an7  take  a  few 
scalps  on  their  own  account.  There's  no 
knowin'  what  we  may  run  into.  Although  there 
is  only  these  two  pony  tracks  right  about  here, 
I  don't  reckon  the  Half  Breed  went  into  this 
thing  alone.  I  got  a  guess  comin'  that  says  he 
has  cast  his  lot  in  with  his  Injin  blood  kin." 

"We  don't  care  who  's  on  the  warpath,"  said 
Sullivan.  "We  want  the  Half  Breed  and  we  're 
going  to  get  him  if  we  Ve  got  to  ride  through 
the  whole  Sioux  nation.  Now,  ride  on!" 

Meekins  nodded.  With  Sullivan  at  his  right 
and  somewhat  in  his  rear,  he  rode  to  the  head 
of  the  score  of  horsemen  and  trotted  along 
the  bluff.  The  progress  he  made  was  slow  be- 
cause he  had  to  follow  a  trail  not  visible  to  the 
untrained  eye.  The  advance,  however,  was 
steady.  By  and  by  they  struck  the  soft  ground 
at  the  head  of  the  ravine  which  led  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canon.  There  was  a  little  muddy 
ground  there  caused  by  a  spring,  and  the  trail 
was  plain  enough  then,  even  to  the  greenest  ten- 
derfoot. 

"They  went  down  there,"  said  Meekins,  point- 

66 


THE  TRAILERS 

ing,  and  as  there  was  no  way  of  getting  out  of 
the  gulch  once  in  it  except  by  crossing  the  stream 
or  descending  it,  he  rode  rapidly  to  the  bottom. 

The  others,  by  his  direction,  kept  back  a  lit- 
tle, while  the  hunter  examined  the  ground.  His 
experience  made  everything  plain  to  him. 

"He  laid  the  girl  down  there  still  bound,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  the  exact  spot  among  the  rocks 
while  the  others  stared  in  wonder  and  admira- 
tion. "Then  he  took  the  bosses  into  the  river. 
I  '11  see  what  he  did  on  the  other  side." 

Without  another  word  he  plunged  in  and  soon 
crossed  the  stream. 

"Yep,"  he  called  out  to  those  waiting  on  the 
other  side,  "here  are  their  tracks." 

Indeed,  footmarks  of  the  two  horses  were 
easily  seen,  but  there  was  something  else  which 
\vas  not  so  apparent.  The  trailer  stooped  down 
and  scrutinized  the  shore  at  close  range.  He 
waved  his  hand  to  them  and  then  scrambled  up 
the  corresponding  ravine  to  the  crest  of  the 
canon,  which  was  lower  than  the  one  on  the  side 
on  which  the  ranch  stood.  They  saw  him  stoop 
down  and  examine  the  ground  again.  Pres- 
ently he  came  back  and  rejoined  them. 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Two  bosses,"  he  said,  "was  rid  down  into 
that  stream,  and  was  rid  out  on  the  other  side. 
Them  tracks  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  bluff  an' 
straight  away  across  the  prairie." 

"Did  you  see  anything  of  them?" 

"Not  a  sight.  But  that 's  not  all ;  there  's  foot- 
marks of  a  man  leadin'  back  to  the  river.  He 
tried  to  disguise  'em  by  steppin'  on  rocks,  but  I 
seen  'em.  He  can't  fool  me." 

"What  do  you  make  of  it,  Bud?"  asked  Sulli- 
van. 

"Why,  he  took  them  bosses  over  the  river  an' 
started  'em  south  to  fool  us  an'  then  he  come 
back  here." 

"And  do  you  think  that  he  's  hidden  about 
here?" 

"I  'd  just  as  soon  think  of  his  puttin'  his  head 
into  a  lion's  mouth,"  replied  Meekins  dryly. 
"Like  most  half  breeds,  he  ain't  no  fool  ex- 
actly," he  went  on. 

"What  then?" 

"He  must  have  gone  down  the  river." 

"But  how?" 

"In  a  canoe,  I  make  my  guess.  Lemme  look 
again.  Yep,"  he  said  at  last,  "he  done  it  there. 

68 


THE  TRAILERS 

About  how  far  do  you  think  he  could  go  in  a 
canoe,  Sullivan?"  he  asked,  looking  up  from  the 
place  where  he  knelt  by  the  water  side. 

"It  is  a  dozen  miles,  I  take  it,  down  to  the 
White  Horse  Rapids.  He  'd  have  to  stop 
there." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Pat,"  put  in  old 
Johnson.  "A  man  that  '11  shoot  the  Colonel  and 
run  off  with  the  girl  ain't  likely  to  stop  at  no 
rapids." 

"Nobody's  ever  gone  through  'em  to  my 
knowledge,"  said  Meekins,  "an'  lived  to  tell  the 
tale." 

"You  '11  find  the  Half  Breed  tried  it." 

"And  Miss  Amy,"  groaned  Sullivan. 

Johnson  threw  up  his  hands. 

"They  got  through  or  they  did  n't,"  he  said 
concisely. 

"Well,  we  've  got  to  roller  'em  an'  find  out," 
said  Meekins. 

"Good!"  said  Sullivan.  "Now,  Johnson,  you 
and  two  men  cross  the  river  and  follow  the  trail. 
Don't  come  back  until  you  find  out  where  it 
leads.  There's  just  a  chance  we  're  mistaken 
and  they  may  really  have  gone  that  way." 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"I  'd  better  go  along  with  'em,  I  reckon,"  said 
Meekins;  "it's  a  hard  trail  to  foller." 

"Go,"  said  Sullivan;  "any  fool  can  go  down 
the  river.  I  '11  take  that  job  myself." 

"So  long,  then,"  said  Johnson,  as  he  sum- 
moned two  of  the  men  and  plunged  into  the 
river.  "Here  's  hoping  that  some  of  us  '11  git 
her,"  he  cried,  turning  in  his  saddle,  half  way 
over. 

"Some  of  us  will,"  growled  Sullivan. 
"Come  on,  men." 

He  turned  and  rode  back  up  to  the  lip  of  the 
canon,  and  followed  the  downward  course  at 
a  rapid  pace,  recklessly  galloping  through  the 
pine  forest,  cutting  off  wide  sweeps,  bends  and 
curves  on  every  hand.  He  rode  in  silence  with 
a  grim,  set  face,  and  the  men,  as  hard  a  set  of 
riders  as  ever  bestrode  horse  flesh,  were  put  to 
it  to  keep  up  with  him.  They  had  work  to  do 
and  there  was  little  time  or  occasion  for  conver- 
sation. Twenty  blood  hounds  on  the  trail  of  a 
fleeing  slave  could  not  have  followed  with  more 
relentless,  ferocious  tenacity  of  purpose  than 
these  men  pursued  their  guarry. 


70 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ALARM 

IT  was  yet  early  in  the  day  when  Captain  Ken- 
nard,  having  finished  the  hard  two-hour  reg- 
ular morning  drill  of  his  troop,  walked  thought- 
fully down  the  parade  ground  toward  the 
commanding  officer's  quarters.  The  work  of 
the  morning  being  thus  early  disposed  of  satis- 
factorily, it  was  his  pleasant  purpose  to  ask 
leave  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  day  at  the 
ranch  by  the  canon,  at  which  he  knew  his  young 
beloved  had  just  arrived. 

He  expected  the  day  to  be  a  momentous  one 
in  his  career.  Now  that  Amy  Benham  had  re- 
turned finally  from  school  it  was  his  purpose  to 
declare  forthwith  his  affection  for  her  and  learn 
if  it  were  reciprocated  and  in  that  case  formally 
to  ask  her  father's  consent  to  their  speedy  mar- 
riage. 

Kennard  was  a  modest  man,  as  timid  with 
women  as  he  was  intrepid  with  men.  He  felt 


THE  WEST  WIND 

no  assurance  whatever  as  to  what  would  be  the 
answer  to  that  question  to  be  put  to  the  woman 
he  loved;  and  yet  as  he  dwelt  upon  the  sweet 
and  tender  memories  of  their  past  association, 
he  was  not  without  hope,  and  as  hope  begets  con- 
fidence, he  was  a  happy  man  that  morning.  At 
least,  whatever  occurred,  he  would  have  the 
glorious  privilege  of  seeing  her  again  and  that 
was  much  to  this  earnest  young  soldier. 

The  months  that  had  intervened  since  his  de- 
parture from  West  Point  for  Fort  McCullough 
had  been  the  longest  he  had  ever  passed.  When 
she  went  home  from  school  the  first  time  for  the 
summer  vacation,  while  he  stayed  at  West  Point, 
the  parting  had  been  hard  enough  for  him,  but 
now  that  he  loved  her  so  deeply,  it  had  been  in- 
finitely worse  on  this  occasion. 

The  young  Captain,  therefore,  walked  with 
rapid,  buoyant  steps  toward  the  low  rambling 
wooden  building,  which  was  at  once  the  home 
and  the  office  of  Colonel  Wainwright,  the  Com- 
mandant of  the  regiment  and  the  post.  He 
had  no  doubt  but  that  he  would  get  the  desired 
permission  and  a  few  hours  would  decide  his 
fate. 

72 


THE  ALARM 

Fort  McCullough  was  completely  enclosed  by 
a  high  wooden  palisade  with  log  blockhouses  at 
each  corner  and  a  watch  tower;  at  least  the  fort 
proper  was  so  surrounded.  There  were,  o£ 
course,  outlying  buildings  and  corrals,  commis- 
sary and  quartermaster's  departments,  but  the 
quarters  of  the  officers  and  men  were  all  in  the 
stockade.  Ground,  standing  timber,  and  labor — 
soldiers'  labor,  of  course — had  all  been  abundant 
when  the  frontier  post  was  laid  out  and  built,  so 
the  enclosure  was  of  considerable  size.  In 
each  of  the  log  blockhouses  were  mounted  small 
cannon.  Against  Indians,  its  only  possible 
enemies,  it  was  an  impregnable  position.  The 
main  gate  of  the  wooden  wall  opened  directly 
on  the  parade  on  the  side  directly  opposite  to 
the  Colonel's  quarters. 

Just  as  Captain  Kennard  reached  the  long, 
broad  porch  in  front  of  the  Colonel's  house,  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  rapid  galloping 
of  a  horse  back  of  him.  He  turned  instantly. 
Up  the  hard,  dusty  road  that  led  around  the 
parade  he  saw  a  cowboy  coming  at  the  full  speed 
of  bronco.  Cowboys  generally  rode  rapidly,  he 
knew,  but  there  was  something  in  the  mad,  reck- 

73 


THE  WEST  WIND 

less,  desperate  haste  of  the  newcomer  that  at- 
tracted his  particular  attention  immediately. 

The  sentry  at  the  gate  stood  uncertainly  pois- 
ing his  gun.  The  cow-puncher  had  evidently 
paid  no  attention  to  his  challenge  but  had 
brushed  by  him  like  a  storm.  For  an  instant, 
the  soldier  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do,  but  as  he  re- 
covered his  wits  a  sharp  cry  rang  through  the 
square: 

"Halt  there!  Corporal  of  the  Guard!" 

The  oncoming  horseman  paid  no  attention, 
if  he  even  heard  the  summons.  He  raced  up  the 
driveway,  drew  rein  before  the  Colonel's  porch 
with  shocking  abruptness,  fairly  threw  himself 
from  the  saddle,  dropped  the  rein  to  the  ground, 
leaving  the  panting  horse  to  its  own  devices — 
glad  enough  was  the  bronco,  which  had  been 
pushed  nearly  to  death,  for  a  few  moments'  res- 
pite— leaped  across  the  porch  and  hammered 
loudly  and  repeatedly  with  his  gauntleted  hand 
upon  the  door. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Kennard  quickly, 
stepping  to  his  side. 

He  recognized  the  man  as  having  come  from 
the  Benham  ranch. 

74 


THE  ALARM 

"There  's  hell  to  pay  over  at  the  ranch,"  an- 
swered the  cowboy.  "Old  Colonel  Benham — " 

At  that  instant  the  door  of  the  house  was 
opened.  Colonel  Wainwright,  Dalton  the  ad- 
jutant, the  orderly  on  duty,  and  the  regimental 
bugler  came  out  on  the  porch. 

"Colonel  Wainwright!"  burst  out  the  cowboy. 

"Just  a  minute,"  interrupted  the  veteran 
officer.  "Bugler,  sound  Officers'  Call  at  once! 
Orderly,  have  my  horse  saddled  and  my  field  kit 
packed  immediately;  Mr.  Dalton,  make  out  and 
publish  an  order  for  A,  B  and  K  troops  to  pre- 
pare to  take  the  field  at  once.  You  know  the  de- 
tails, sir." 

The  two  soldiers  and  the  officer  saluted,  but 
the  bugler  looked  at  the  excited  cowboy  fidg- 
eting nervously  on  the  porch,  and  hesitated  un- 
certainly. 

"Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  sharply,  noticing 
the  delay,  "what  are  you  waiting  for?" 

The  trumpeter,  thereby  recalled  to  himself, 
stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  porch,  and  instantly 
the  loud,  clear  notes  of  the  bugle  went  echoing 
through  the  post. 

From  every  group  of  officers'  quarters  on  the 

75 


THE  WEST  WIND 

instant  the  young  captains  and  lieutenants  of  the 
several  troops  came  running;  the  men  also 
swarmed  from  their  barracks,  wondering  what 
was  up.  The  adjutant  disappeared  within  the 
doorway;  the  orderly  started  on  the  double 
quick  for  the  stables;  the  quiet  post  awoke  to 
life  with  startling  suddenness. 

"Ah,  Kennard,  good  morning,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel at  last,  acknowledging  the  young  man's  pres- 
ence. 

"Good  morning,  Colonel  Wainwright,"  re- 
plied the  other. 

"Now,  sir,"  the  Colonel  turned  to  the  impa- 
tient and  excited  cowboy,  "what  do  you  want?" 

"Sullivan,  the  ranch  boss  on  the  Benham 
ranch,"  returned  the  cowboy,  "sent  me  over  here 
to  tell  you  that  Colonel  Benham  has  been  mur- 
dered." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel  in  amaze- 
ment and  horror. 

"And  Miss  Benham,"  burst  out  Kennard,  anx- 
iously, his  first  thought  for  the  woman. 

"Who  did  it?"  asked  the  Colonel. 

The  cow-puncher,  delighted  at  last  to  be  the 
center  of  attention,  made  prompt  answer. 


THE  ALARM 

"Colonel  Benham  was  shot  this  morning  from 
behind  by  some  unknown  party." 

"Sioux?"  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 

"Don't  believe  so.  Suspicion  points  to  a 
Half  Breed  with  whom  he  had  a  few  words  night 
afore." 

"Girot?"  questioned  the  Colonel. 

"That 'shim." 

"And  Miss  Benham?  Good  God,  man!  what 
of  her?"  cried  Kennard. 

The  Colonel  looked  at  the  young  officer  in 
great  surprise,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"She's  gone." 

"Gone  where?"  asked  the  Colonel,  noticing 
that  Kennard  reeled  back  as  if  from  a  blow. 

"We  don't  know.  We  think  the  Half  Breed 
took  her  away  with  him  somewheres." 

"Colonel  Wainwright,"  choked  out  Kennard 
again,  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  "let  me  have  my 
troop — a  platoon — let  me  go  alone,  to  seek  for 
her!" 

"What  was  she  to  you,  Kennard?"  asked 
Wainwright,  gently,  yet  curiously. 

"I  intended  to  ask  her  to  be  my  wife  to-day; 
and—" 

77 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Sullivan,  the  ranch  boss,  and  half  the  outfit 
is  already  on  the  trail,"  interposed  the  cowboy. 
"Bud  Meekins  is  leadin'  'em." 

"Let  me  go!" 

"Wait,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Before  this  the  first  of  the  officers  had  ap- 
peared on  the  porch.  They  assembled  rapidly 
and  all  became  at  once  deeply  interested  in  what 
was  going  on,  as  they  caught  a  part  of  the  con- 
versation, which,  under  the  circumstances,  they 
did  not  dare  to  interrupt.  The  Colonel  glanced 
over  the  little  group  standing  on  the  porch  some- 
what withdrawn  to  one  side. 

"Are  you  all  here?  Ahl  every  one,  I  see. 
Gentlemen,"  he  looked  at  the  telegram  in  his 
hand  and  spoke  briefly,  "the  Sioux  and  the 
Cheyennes  are  on  the  warpath.  They  have  al- 
ready cut  to  pieces  a  detachment  of  the  Twelfth 
Cavalry  on  the  Montana  Border.  Crazy 
Horse,  Roman  Nose,  and  their  bands  are  the 
leaders  in  the  insurrection,  and  before  nightfall 
the  whole  nation  will  be  out.  I  have  a  telegram 
here  from  General  Crook,  the  Department  Com- 
mander, directing  me  to  join  him  with 
every  available  man  in  the  Dead  Canon  of  the 

78 


THE  ALARM 

Rosebud  without  delay.  The  other  troops  of 
the  regiment  have  been  ordered  to  join  us  there. 
Troops  A,  B  and  K  will  prepare  to  take  the 
field  at  once.  Orders  are  being  made  ready 
now.  Troop  E  will  remain  in  charge  of  the 
post." 

"Well,  I  call  it  damned  hard,  sir,  saving  your 
presence,"  broke  out  Franklin,  commander  of 
Troop  E,  "that  I  have  to  stay  at  home,  and  there 
is  n't  a  man  in  the  troop  that  won't  feel  the 


same." 


"It  is  your  turn,  Franklin,"  said  the  Colonel, 
approvingly.  "I  like  your  spirit,  but  some  one 
has  to  stay  here  and  protect  the  women  and  chil- 
dren, you  know,  and  if  the  war  lasts  long  enough, 
you  will  get  into  the  game,  never  fear." 

Old  Major  Nash  detached  himself  from  the 
little  group  and  lifted  his  hand. 

"Three  cheers  for  the  orders,  gentlemen!"  he 
cried;  "we  will  make  short  work  of  the  Sioux 
when  we  catch  them!" 

"I  'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  returned  the  Colo- 
nel, smiling,  as  the  hearty  cheering  died  away; 
"Crazy  Horse  is  a  general,  and  so  is  Roman 
Nose.  I  have  met  them  both.  They  will  give 

79 


THE  WEST  WIND 

us  plenty  to  do.  Meanwhile  we  will  march  in 
two  hours.  Hasten,  gentlemen.  Franklin,  a 
word  with  you  as  to  what  is  to  be  done  in  our  ab- 


sence." 


"And  my  request,  Colonel?"  said  Kennard,  as 
the  officers  separated,  hurrying  to  take  up  their 
new  duties. 

"Your  troop  is  ordered  to  the  front,  Kennard, 
and  your  duty  as  a  soldier  is  to  go  with  it," 
returned  the  veteran  rather  severely. 

The  Captain  nodded.  He  was  a  soldier, 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

"God  help  her!"  he  exclaimed;  "I  must  go 
with  my  men." 

"Yes,"  commented  the  old  Colonel,  kindly 
but  firmly,  "you  are  too  experienced  an  officer  at 
this  kind  of  fighting  to  be  spared." 

"And  what 's  to  be  done  about  Colonel  Ben- 
ham's  murder,  sir?"  asked  the  cow-puncher,  who 
had  listened  to  it  all. 

"At  present,  nothing,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  We 
are  under  orders  and  have  no  option  but  to 
march  at  once.  I  think  it  probable,  however,"  he 
said,  "that  Girot  has  gone  over  to  the  Sioux,  and 
in  that  case  our  best  way  to  find  Miss  Benham, 

80 


THE  ALARM 

whom  God  help,  as  you  say,  Kennard,  will  be  to 
find  them." 

"If  she  is  not  found  before  night,  sir,"  said 
the  cowboy  meaningly,  "it  '11  be  too  late.  You 
know  what  them  red  devils  are,  sir,  an5  Girot's 
not  apt  to  be  any  better." 

Kennard  clapped  his  hands  to  his  face  and 
groaned.  He  knew  as  well  as  did  the  others 
what  it  meant  for  a  white  woman  to  fall  into 
such  hands. 

"True,"  said  the  Colonel  to  the  cowboy,  with  a 
compassionate  glance  at  poor  Kennard.  "Wait, 
let  me  think."  He  walked  over  to  the  young 
soldier,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"Kennard,  how  soon  can  you  get  your  troop 
ready  to  move?" 

"In  ten  minutes,  sir,  in  five,  if  some  one  will 
look  after  our  supplies,"  replied  the  other,  his 
cheeks  flushing  with  hope. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Which  way 
are  the  fugitives  supposed  to  have  gone?" 

"The  Half  Breed  has  certainly  taken  the  girl 
down  the  canon,  sir,"  answered  the  cowboy 
promptly. 

"I  thought  so.  That  will  be  northward  and 

81 


THE  WEST  WIND 

westward  and  in  the  general  direction  of  the 
Rosebud,  the  way  we  want  to  go.  Captain 
Kennard,  suppose  you  take  your  troop  toward 
the  canon,  scouting  on  either  side  for  a  score  of 
miles,  and  going  into  camp  not  more  than  forty 
miles  from  here,  just  by  the  side  of  that  little 
lake  on  the  shoulder  of  Cloud  Peak.  You 
know  where  it  is?  The  Montana  Trail  passes 
it." 

"Perfectly,  sir;  we  will  make  our  first  camp 
there." 

"Then  I  will  join  you  with  the  rest  of  the 
men  to-morrow." 

"You  will  find  us  awaiting  you  there,  sir." 

"Perhaps  you  can  overtake  them  on  the  way. 
I  give  you  full  liberty  of  action  so  long  as  you 
reach  the  rendezvous  to-morrow  morning." 

"Pat  Sullivan  is  on  their  trail  an'  he  is  fol- 
lerin'  'em  down  the  canon,"  said  the  cowboy. 

"In  that  case,"  said  Colonel  Wainwright,  "if 
I  were  you  I  should  strike  straight  across  the 
prairie  and  hit  the  canon  about  White  Horse 
Rapids.  They  must  have  landed  there  if  they 
went  down  in  a  boat  or  a  canoe." 

"Very  good,  sir,  I  understand,"  said  the  Cap- . 

82 


THE  ALARM 

tain,  saluting  and  turning  away.  "Thank  you 
and  God  bless  you,  sir,"  he  added,  as  he  stepped 
off  the  porch. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Kennard,"  said  the  Colonel, 
following  after  him  for  a  final  word  of  advice. 
"Remember  that  you  are  in  the  service  of  the 
United  States  and  these  men  belong  to  the  gov- 
ernment. Your  first  duty  is  to  your  country  and 
to  your  flag.  If  I  mistake  not,  our  services  will 
be  sorely  needed  presently,  to  prevent  greater 
and  more  widespread  horrors  than  even  the 
murder  of  one  man  and  the  abduction  of  one 
woman ;  and  while  I  leave  you  free,  I  am  surp 
you  will  not  unduly  jeopardize  your  men  by  any 
rash,  inconsiderate  or  headlong  action." 

The  old  man  spoke  earnestly  and  impres- 
sively. In  his  stern  code  public  duty  always 
took  precedence  of  private  affairs,  however 
pressing. 

Kennard  fully  understood  the  Commander's 
point  of  view  and  entered  into  it. 

"I  shall  take  good  care  of  them,  sir,"  he  re- 
plied, "and  you  will  find  me  by  the  lake  when 
you  come,  or  tidings  of  me.  God  grant  I  may 
overtake  them  and  rescue  her." 

83 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Amen,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  now  good-by 
and  good  luck  to  you." 

Saluting  once  more,  Kennard  broke  into  a  run. 
He  called  to  his  striker  as  he  passed  his  own 
quarters  and  then  kept  on  to  the  barracks  of  the 
men  of  his  troop. 

The  quarters  were  already  buzzing  with  eager 
anticipation.  The  men  were  at  work  prepar- 
ing their  field  kits,  filling  their  haversacks  and 
canteens,  getting  their  carbine  and  revolver  am- 
munition and  making  ready  for  the  advance, 
when  Kennard  pressed  in  among  them,  calling 
out  loudly  for  Schneider,  his  first  sergeant,  a 
grizzled  veteran  of  many  wars  in  many  lands 
and  devoted  to  his  leader. 

"Get  the  men  together  quick,"  he  called.  "We 
are  to  lead  the  advance.  Sixty  rounds  and  two 
days'  rations.  The  other  troops  will  look  after 
forwarding  whatever  supplies  we  need  that  we 
cannot  carry  on  our  backs.  I  want  the  men  out 
here  in  five  minutes,  for  the  honor  of  the  troop, 
and—" 

The  troopers  had  heard  as  well  as  the  Ser- 
geant. The  old  man  did  not  need  to  repeat  the 
order.  With  wild  and  tumultuous  cheers,  the 


THE  ALARM 

men  dashed  for  their  arms,  blankets  and  haver- 
sacks, and  then  rushed  for  the  stables. 

To  dive  into  his  own  quarters  and  get  into  his 
campaign  uniform  was  the  work  of  a  few  mo- 
ments. The  well-trained  striker  had  everything 
ready  for  him.  Within  the  five  minutes  which 
he  had  mentioned,  the  troop  was  mounted,  and 
lined  up  on  the  parade.  Kennard  took  his  place 
at  the  head.  A  few  sharp  words  of  command, 
and  the  line  broke  into  a  column  of  fours. 
Guided  by  the  Captain,  the  troop  trotted  gently 
down  the  road. 

Kennard  led  them  past  the  officer's  quarters 
and  the  Colonel's  house.  The  women  and  chil- 
dren were  clustered  on  the  porches,  the  women 
white-faced  and  anxious,  the  children  nervous 
and  excited.  The  bolt  they  dreaded  was  about 
to  fall.  Kennard's  command  was  visible  evi- 
dence that  their  own  beloved  would  follow  in  a 
short  time.  Cheeks  were  wet  and  eyes  were 
blinded  with  tears,  yet  the  pale  lips  of  all  joined 
in  the  hearty  cheers  of  the  soldiers  left  behind 
or  preparing  to  follow  in  turn. 

The  men  themselves  looked  at  the  matter 
lightly,  with  laughter  and  jest,  and  high  antici- 

85 


THE  WEST  WIND 

pation  of  splendid  opportunities  for  hard  riding 
and  good  fighting — the  cavalryman's  ideal!— 
in  their  hearts.     To  paraphrase  the  old  saying, 
Men  may  laugh,  but  women  may  wait,  when  the 
game  of  war  is  to  be  played. 

As  he  drew  abreast  the  veteran  commander, 
Kennard  saluted  the  Colonel,  who  stood  at  the 
steps  to  see  them  pass.  The  men  of  the  troop, 
who  loved  "Old  Glory"  as  they  called  him,  as 
did  every  soldier  in  the  regiment,  broke  into 
cheers  at  the  sight  of  the  straight,  soldierly  fig- 
ure, with  its  bronzed  face  and  white  mustache. 

Although  his  heart  was  filled  with  anxiety  and 
dread  unspeakable,  the  young  Captain  experi- 
enced a  thrill  of  pride  as  he  looked  back  at 
the  lean,  brown  faces  of  the  faithful  men  who 
had  followed  him  in  many  a  hard  ride,  in  many 
a  desperate  Indian  pursuit,  over  the  hills  and 
plains  of  the  great  West.  He  prayed  as  he 
never  prayed  before,  that  he  might  catch  the 
Half  Breed,  and  above  all  that  he  might  catch 
him  in  time.  With  such  as  these  men  he  could 
ride  through  the  whole  Sioux  nation,  he  thought, 
so  confident  was  he  of  his  command. 

As  they  trotted  along,  he  explained  the  object 

86 


THE  ALARM 

of  their  pursuit  to  the  men.  Many  of  them  had 
seen  the  girl  and  had  spoken  with  her.  Any 
soldier  was  a  welcome  guest  at  the  ranch,  and  as 
the  news  spread  through  the  troop,  they  were 
soon  as  eager  as  their  captain  to  catch  the 
dastard  who  had  committed  the  murder  and  rav- 
ished the  girl  away.  Amy  Benham  had  said 
rightly  when  she  told  the  Half  Breed  of  the  pur- 
suit 

Down  the  edge  of  the  canon  Sullivan  and  his 
men  were  trailing  him  like  hounds. 

Across  the  prairie  Kennard  and  his  war  dogs 
were  racing  to  intercept  him. 

The  devil  he  served  might  help  him :  no  other 
power  would  or  could. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  RETREAT  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS 

STARTLED  by  the  savage  apparition  which 
at  first  sight  he  failed  to  recognize,  the 
dazed  Half  Breed  strove  feebly  to  arise.  As  he 
did  so,  full  consciousness  came  to  him  and  he 
laughed  faintly  in  the  face  of  the  stalwart  brave. 

"Water,"  he  said  in  the  guttural  language 
of  the  Sioux. 

The  Indian  impassively  pointed  toward  the 
river. 

"Not  that  kind,"  continued  the  other  easily. 

He  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  hunting  shirt 
as  he  spoke  and  presently  brought  forth  a  silver 
mounted  flask.  Fortunately  it  was  intact,  al- 
though how  it  had  escaped  breaking  in  the  buf- 
feting he  had  undergone  in  the  rapids  was  sur- 
prising. The  Indian  stared  at  him  eagerly  as 
he  unscrewed  the  top  and  covetously  as  he  took 
a  long  drink  thereof. 

It  was    characteristic   of   the   man   that  he 


THE  RETREAT 

thought  first  of  himself.  When  the  potent 
liquor  had  put  new  life  and  energy  into  his  own 
veins,  he  turned  to  the  girl,  the  Indian  watching 
him  with  even  more  baleful  intentness  than  be- 
fore as  he  did  so. 

Without  much  difficulty  the  Half  Breed 
turned  the  poor  girl  over  upon  her  back.  She 
had  fainted  apparently;  at  least  she  was  uncon- 
scious. Gently  enough  with  the  blade  of  his 
hunting  knife  he  separated  her  teeth  and  poured 
a  little  of  the  whisky  down  her  throat. 

He  did  not  think  that  she  had  been  drowned  but 
that  she  had  swooned,  and  that  fact  had  pre- 
vented her  from  swallowing  quantities  of  water 
during  the  mad  battle  in  the  rapids.  If  his 
thoughts  were  justified,  the  fiery  spirit  would 
soon  restore  her  to  life  and  consciousness.  He 
watched  her  anxiously.  He  did  not  want  to  lose 
her  now  that  he  had  dared  so  much  for  her. 
Sure  enough,  presently  she  opened  her  eyes,  star- 
ing frightened  and  puzzled  beyond  his  kneeling 
figure  to  the  stark  form  of  the  red  warrior,  who 
bent  over  them  both. 

"She  lives,"  triumphantly  said  the  Half 
Breed,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  tall  Indian  grunted  his  approval  of  the 
undoubted  fact.  Naturally  he  was  glad  so 
promising  a  prey  had  not  escaped  him. 

"How  do  you  feel,  Mademoiselle,"  he  con- 
tinued, looking  down  at  her  again. 

"Sorry  that  I  have  been  summoned  back  to 
life  where  you  are  again,"  came  the  weak,  faint, 
but  resolute  answer. 

"You  are  doubly  mine  now,"  he  said  eagerly; 
"by  two  rights,  that  of  conquest  and  of  salvation. 
Had  it  not  been  for  me  you  would  have  gone 
down  in  the  rapids  yonder." 

"I  wish  your  arm  had  been  paralyzed  before 
you  had  succeeded,"  said  the  girl,  striving  to  sit 
up,  and  yet  shrinking  from  his  assistance  when 
he  himself  raised  her  into  a  sitting  position. 

The  Indian  now  broke  into  the  conversation 
in  the  language  of  the  Sioux,  which  she  did  not 
understand  very  well.  The  Half  Breed  made 
quick  reply,  and  then  repeated  the  substance  of 
the  remark  in  English  as  if  for  the  girl's  bene- 
fit. 

"Yes,  he  may  well  be  surprised,"  he  said 
boastfully.  "He  says  we  are  the  first  persons 
that  ever  came  through  that  rapid  alive. 

90 


THE  RETREAT 

Thanks  to  me,"  he  tapped  his  breast  proudly, 
"JulesGirot;Ididit." 

"God,"  said  the  woman  softly,  "has  preserved 
my  life  for  some  purpose." 

"For  my  purpose,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"We  '11  see  about  that  presently,"  he  continued 
gaily. 

Then  he  arose  to  his  feet  and  had  further 
conversation  with  the  newcomer.  There  was  a 
word  here  and  there  which  enabled  her  to  get 
an  inkling  of  the  purport  of  the  discussion  if 
not  of  its  whole  content.  She  realized  in- 
stantly that  her  captor  had  gone  over  body  and 
soul  to  the  Sioux;  that  he  had  cast  his  lot  in  with 
Crazy  Horse,  Chief  of  the  Oglala  band,  and  that 
this  Indian  was  Yellow  Foot,  a  famous  sub-chief, 
who  had  command  of  a  war  party  out  scouting  and 
raiding  with  whom  the  Half  Breed  had  made  a 
convenient  rendezvous.  She  divined  also  that 
they  were  discussing  most  earnestly  what  was  to 
be  done  with  her;  that  the  Indian  was  pressing 
some  sort  of  an  argument,  or  making  some  sort 
of  an  appeal,  which  the  Half  Breed  was  vig- 
orously resenting.  She  knew,  too,  that  her 

91 


THE  WEST  WIND 

present  safety  depended  upon  the  Half  Breed; 
that  if  his  protection  were  withdrawn  her  honor 
would  not  be  worth  a  moment's  purchase. 

She  was  hopeful  that  her  captor's  immediate 
desires  and  intentions  toward  her  were  pacific 
and  propitiatory  and  she  was  reasonably  con- 
fident of  his  ability  to  get  and  maintain  his  own 
way  for  a  while  at  least,  in  spite  of  Yellow  Foot 
and  his  whole  band.  Yet  she  was  not  absolutely 
certain  as  to  either  of  these  possibilities.  Her 
position  filled  her  with  a  sickening  horror,  en- 
hanced by  the  helplessness  in  which  she  found 
herself,  bound  hand  and  foot,  utterly  unable 
even  in  case  of  necessity  to  strike  a  blow  at  her 
own  heart  rather  than  to  submit  to  things  worse 
than  death,  and  take  her  own  life.  God,  in  His 
own  inscrutable  way,  had  preserved  her  life  for 
some  purpose.  She  could  not  believe  it  was  to 
be  given  over  to  the  brutality  and  ferocity  of  the 
red  fiends  or  the  white  one.  She  took  some 
comfort  in  that  belief. 

Presently  the  conversation  was  ended.  In 
what  way  she  could  not  tell  save  that  the  Indian 
seemed  by  no  means  satisfied,  which  she  thought 
a  good  sign.  The  lashing  around  her  feet  was 

92 


THE  RETREAT 

untied  and  cast  off.  She  was  lifted  up  and  made 
to  stand.  The  first  steps  she  took  were  ex- 
quisitely painful,  she  had  been  so  long  secured 
so  tightly  in  so  cramped  a  position,  but  presently 
strength  came  back  to  her  and  in  obedience  to 
the  command  of  the  Half  Breed,  she  accom- 
panied him  as  he  followed  the  Indian  across  the 
beach  and  up  a  winding  ravine  that  led  from 
the  river  bank  to  the  uplands. 

When  she  reached  the  level  of  the  plateau  she 
was  surprised  to  find  waiting  there  a  consider- 
able band  of  Sioux  and  Cheyennes,  all  painted 
for  the  warpath.  With  them,  although  it  was 
distinctly  contrary  to  every  Indian  precedent  of 
which  she  had  ever  heard,  there  was  a  woman,  a 
full-blooded  Indian  squaw,  apparently  the  wife 
of  Yellow  Foot.  What  power  she  had  employed 
to  be  permitted  to  follow  her  husband,  or 
whether,  as  was  more  likely,  having  been  afield 
on  errands  of  her  own,  she  had  stumbled  upon 
the  party  by  chance  and  then  stayed  with  it,  did 
not  appear.  Her  appearance,  however,  af- 
forded Amy  Benham  the  one  ray  of  comfort  in 
the  situation.  Not  because  of  the  fact  that  she 
was  a  woman,  for  the  Indian  squaws  were  often 

93 


THE  WEST  WIND 

more  cruel,  vindictive  and  malevolent  than  the 
braves  themselves,  but  because  this  particular 
squaw  was  known  to  the  white  woman,  and  be- 
cause the  white  woman  had  befriended  her  in 
days  past. 

As  the  little  party  approached  the  crowd  re- 
clining indolently  under  the  trees,  Mah-wissa, 
the  Blue  Bird,  for  so  the  squaw  was  named, 
looked  stolidly  into  the  face  of  the  white  woman, 
and  turned  indifferently  away  without  giving 
the  slightest  sign  of  recognition.  The  girl's 
senses  were  acutely  sharpened  by  the  dangers  of 
her  position,  and  she  divined  instantly  that  for 
some  reason  no  sign  of  mutual  recognition  was 
to  be  given.  Indeed,  it  seemed  at  first  as  if  the 
squaw  had  made  a  mistake  in  her  indifference, 
for  all  the  other  Indians  crowded  eagerly 
around  the  Half  Breed,  the  Chief  and — prize 
of  all  prizes  1 — the  white  woman. 

There  was  more  excited  conversation  and 
much  pointing  backward  on  the  trail,  each  man 
entitled  to  speak  explaining  by  voice,  sign  lan- 
guage and  other  methods  his  ideas.  Finally  the 
Chief  gave  some  sort  of  orders,  and  the  men  of 
the  party  went  back  behind  the  low  hill  and 

94 


THE  RETREAT 

brought  out  the  ponies.  From  the  spare  mounts, 
of  which  there  were  a  number,  one  was  provided 
for  the  white  woman  and  another  for  the  Indian 
squaw.  The  latter  was  apparently  told  off  es- 
pecially to  watch  the  former,  for  to  her  was 
given  the  halter  of  Amy  Benham's  pony.  As 
before,  she  was  mounted  astride,  and  her  feet 
tied  beneath  the  belly  of  the  horse.  The  Half 
Breed  and  Yellow  Foot  took  the  lead.  An  old 
warrior  with  three  or  four  adventurous  young 
bucks  was  ordered  to  bring  up  the  rear.  The 
others  surrounded  the  two  women  and  the  whole 
party  trotted  rapidly  across  the  upland  toward 
the  now  not  distant  foothills  of  the  range. 

Miserable,  indeed,  were  the  reflections  of  the 
white  woman.  She  had  heard  terrible  tales  of  the 
frontier  since  she  was  a  child.  She  knew  no 
white  woman  of  her  race  had  ever  been  in  such 
a  position  and  had  ever  come  forth  from  the  ad- 
venture unharmed.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
wreck  of  her  life  had  begun.  Yet,  even  in  her 
awful  desperation  she  did  not  quite  give  up 
heart.  Every  hour  which  passed  leaving  her 
still  unharmed  added  to  the  chances  of  her 
rescue,  faint  though  they  were  at  best. 

95 


THE  WEST  WIND 

In  the  first  place  she  knew  that  long  ere  this 
Sullivan  and  the  men  of  the  ranch  would  be  on 
her  trail.  She  was  equally  confident  that  Ken- 
nard  would  not  be  long  after  the  big  cattleman. 
She  had  confidence  in  the  skill  and  daring  of  the 
one,  and  in  the  devotion  and  the  persistence  of 
the  other.  With  two  such  men  in  pursuit  of 
him,  the  Half  Breed  would  eventually  be  over- 
taken. They  might  be  too  late  for  anything  but 
vengeance,  but  at  least  there  would  be  no  delay. 
Meanwhile,  she  could  only  pray  and  pray  she 
did  as  she  had  never  prayed  before  in  her  short 
young  life. 

God  seems  far  away  sometimes  to  people  in 
trouble.  To  her  He  was  most  imminent.  She 
had  no  one  but  Him,  and  to  Him,  as  she  rode 
along  with  half-closed  eyes,  swaying  uneasily  as 
the  road  grew  rougher,  winding  through  the 
foothills  and  up  toward  the  vast  bulk  of  the 
range  itself,  she  poured  out  her  soul  in  fervent, 
if  voiceless  petition.  She  besought  God  to  pre- 
serve her  and  restore  her  to  the  arms  of  the  man 
she  now  realized  she  loved  with  all  her  soul. 

Conventionality,  maidenly  hesitation  disap- 
peared from  her  heart  like  the  night  mist  before 


THE  RETREAT 

the  rising  sun.  In  her  dire  extremity  she  saw 
things  nakedly,  just  as  they  were,  and  she  was 
not  ashamed.  She  admitted  to  herself  that  she 
loved  him  as  she  realized  that  he  loved  her,  and 
she  prayed  for  him. 

In  the  midst  of  her  own  sufferings  she  could 
even  feel  a  pang  of  pity  as  she  thought  how  Ken- 
nard  must  be  undergoing  all  the  tortures  of  the 
damned;  and  Sullivan,  too,  although  her  appre- 
ciation of  his  feelings  was  less  thorough  than  in 
the  case  of  the  former  man,  for  the  ranchman 
had  been  big  enough  not  to  tell  her  of  his  hopes 
and  dreams,  and  she  looked  upon  him  almost  as 
a  second  father,  or  perhaps  as  she  might  have 
looked  upon  a  big  brother ;  yet  she  knew  how  his 
heart  would  be  wrung,  too.  Her  own  peril  and 
the  terror  of  it  did  not  make  her  forget  her  poor 
murdered  father  either,  but  her  grief  for  him 
could  not  be  as  poignant  as  it  would  otherwise 
have  been  because  of  her  deadly  and  all-en- 
grossing apprehension.  Nor  was  it  for  her  life 
that  she  feared  either. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  stared  at  the  Half 
Breed.  She  found  time  to  marvel  again  at  the 
temerity  of  the  man  inviting  upon  himself  such 

97 


THE  WEST  WIND 

avengers  of  blood,  such  furies,  as  would  be  these 
two  men  to  whom  her  thoughts  went  back  again 
and  again. 

Sometimes  she  looked  over  at  the  squaw  rid- 
ing imperturbably  by  her  side.  If  her  eyes  met 
those  of  the  Indian  woman,  as  before,  they 
stared  at  her  blankly,  with  no  sign  of  recogni- 
tion. Sometimes,  indeed,  the  squaw  with  rude 
voice  and  threatening  mien  seemed  to  be  pouring 
objurgations  in  her  native  language  upon  her 
helpless  companion,  which  greatly  amused  the 
younger  men,  who  proceeded  eagerly  to  gather 
about  her,  but  after  a  word  or  two  of  warning 
from  Yellow  Foot  and  fierce,  threatening  looks 
from  the  Half  Breed,  they  did  not  otherwise 
molest  her.  She  was  the  property  of  their  ally 
and  friend  and  as  such  they  would  hold  her 
sacred,  although  how  long  they  would  have  done 
so  had  she  not  been  under  the  protection  of  the 
Chief,  also,  was  a  question  not  affording  much 
room  for  speculation. 

Indians  are  ruthless  riders.  No  brute  beast 
on  earth  has  so  sad  a  fortune  in  life  as  an  Indian 
pony.  It  is  cheaper  to  kill  them  than  to  care 
for  them,  the  Indians  think.  They  were  in  a 


THE  RETREAT 

fierce  hurry.  The  Half  Breed  was  not  so  obliv- 
ious of  the  avengers  of  blood  as  he  seemed.  He 
wanted  to  put  a  great  distance  between  the 
ranch  and  himself  before  night  fell.  And  he 
communicated  his  desires  to  the  band,  who 
seemed  no  less  anxious  than  he  to  get  away. 
They  had  already  been  doing  some  bloody  raid- 
ing on  their  own  account  and  several  new  scalps 
dangling  from  their  belts  told  the  awful  story. 
They  rode  the  ponies  on,  reckless  of  any  possible 
consequences  to  them,  indeed  killing  some  of 
them  in  their  unsparing  urgency  and  then  mount- 
ing others  from  the  herd,  until  toward  late  in 
the  afternoon  they  had  penetrated  well  into  the 
heart  of  the  great  mountain  range. 

The  Half  Breed,  to  whom  the  Big  Horn 
Mountains  were  as  familiar  as  his  cabin,  led  the 
way,  and  presently  about  two  hours  before  dark, 
they  entered  upon  a  gloomy  canon.  A  narrow 
trail  led  along  one  of  the  sides,  half  way  between 
the  bottom  and  the  crest.  They  had  to  go  in 
single  file  and  trust  to  the  sure-footedness  of 
their  ponies.  Indeed,  many  of  the  Indians  dis- 
mounted and  elected  to  go  through  on  foot. 

Amy  Benham  was  one  of  those  perforce  left 

99 


THE  WEST  WIND 

on  her  horse.  Her  hands  had  not  been  untied. 
The  strain  of  the  long  hours  had  paralyzed 
them.  Even  the  fierce  pains  of  earlier  in  the 
day  had  been  succeeded  by  a  numb,  dead  feeling 
horrible  to  think  on.  She  was  absolutely  help- 
less to  guide  her  bronco.  She  could  only  trust 
that  it  might  get  through  safely.  She  found 
herself  staring  over  the  side  at  the  great  depths 
beneath  them,  wondering  whether  it  would  not 
be  better  to  throw  her  body  violently  in  that 
direction  and  thus  cause  the  pony  to  lose  his 
footing,  and  send  them  both  crashing  to  death 
below,  than  to  proceed  to  what  ghastly  fate 
probably  awaited  her  at  the  end  of  the  journey. 
Certainly  any  death  would  be  welcome  rather 
than  the  awful  end  that  must  eventually  be  hers 
if  she  were  not  rescued.  But  she  was  young  and 
she  clung  to  life.  She  clung  to  the  hope  that  she 
might  find  some  means  of  dying  when  the  actual 
moment  came.  Meanwhile  she  would  live  on 
and  wait.  Yet  again  and  again  she  swayed  to- 
ward the  canon,  and  perhaps  might  have  gone 
over  had  it  not  been  that  for  one  moment  Mah- 
wissa,  who  had  dismounted  with  the  rest  and 
was  leading  the  white  woman's  pony,  flashed  one 

100 


THE  RETREAT 

glance  of  intelligent  entreaty  back  at  her  in  the 
growing  dusk. 

Did  the  savage  Indian  woman  divine  what 
was  in  her  white  sister's  .heirt?;  rWis'iiife*  offer- 
ing encouragement  to  wait  for  possible  help  later 
on? 

These  questions  ran  through  the  girl's  mind, 
and  again  upbuoyed  by  her  hopes,  she  decided  in 
the  affirmative.  At  any  rate,  she  remained  still 
on  her  horse  until  the  perilous  passage  had  been 
made. 


1OI 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  CAMP  IN  THE  CANON 

ROUNDING  a  sharp  and  dangerous  angle  in 
the  walls  of  the  canon,  where  the  trail  itself 
diminished  to  a  mere  thread,  the  war  party  with 
its  prisoner  found  itself  on  a  wide  level  shelf  suit- 
able for  camping.  The  rocks  overhung  it,  mak- 
ing it  almost  a  cave.  The  way  on  up  the  canon 
from  there  appeared  broad  and  easy.  The  trail 
widened  and  ascended  to  the  upper  levels  a  short 
distance  beyond  the  shelf.  A  spring  of  water 
gushed  from  the  rocks  hard  by,  and  fell  music- 
ally over  the  edge  into  the  depths.  The  place 
was  most  convenient  for  a  camp.  It  was  shel- 
tered and  hidden  as  well. 

The  band  had  traveled  with  the  greatest  pos- 
sible rapidity  and  had  put  many  miles,  the  girl 
thought  with  sinking  heart,  between  them  and 
the  distant  ranch  where  her  dead  father  lay — 
her  father,  her  good  old  father,  with  whom  she 
had  hoped  to  live  through  so  many  years  of 

102 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  CANON 

peace  and  happiness.  She  had  scarcely  had 
time  to  think  upon  him.  He  had,  as  it  were, 
been  blotted  out  of  her  mind  by  her  own  fright- 
ful peril.  Even  now  she  could  hardly  realize 
the  whole  situation.  The  action  had  been  so 
swift,  so  unexpected.  She  had  been  allowed  no 
leisure  for  grief.  She  had  seen  him  foully  mur- 
dered before  her  eyes,  and  yet  he  seemed  to  be 
still  alive,  waiting  for  her,  watching  over  her — 
perhaps,  in  truth,  he  was. 

She  sat  her  weary  horse  listlessly,  inertly,  until 
the  Half  Breed  came,  untied  the  lashing  that 
bound  her  feet,  and  lifted  her  down.  Then  for 
the  first  time  since  the  morning  he  cast  off  the 
rope  that  bound  her  arms  to  her  sides.  She  was 
totally  without  any  power  of  moving  them.  His 
experience  had  taught  him  what  would  be  her 
situation  and  he  vigorously  chafed  her  arms,  in 
spite  of  her  faint  remonstrances,  until  the  blood 
again  flowed  freely  in  them  but  with  an  exqui- 
site agony,  which  after  a  time  abated  somewhat; 
until,  although  they  were  still  stiff  and  very  sore, 
and  motion  was  very  painful,  she  could  use  them. 
He  had  made  no  search  of  her  and  did  not  know 
that  she  had  a  small  knife  hidden  beneath  the 

103 


THE  WEST  WIND 

loose  white  waist  she  wore,  and  she  was  most 
careful  in  no  way  to  betray  to  him  that  fact. 

She  was  allowed  a  certain  freedom  because  of 
the  absolute  hopelessness  of  escape.  One  Indian 
was  sent  back  along  the  trail  to  the  narrowest 
part  of  the  pass,  where  the  turn  in  the  canon 
gave  opening  to  the  broad  shelf.  The  rocks 
overhanging  it  above  prevented  any  one  com- 
manding it  from  the  top  of  the  canon,  and  a  man 
or  two  stationed  at  the  upper  end  of  the  trail  on 
the  far  side  from  which  no  danger  was  to  be 
apprehended,  could  see  a  vast  expanse  of  country 
and  give  ample  warning  of  the  approach  of  a 
possible  enemy.  In  no  direction  was  escape  pos- 
sible to  her  unaided  efforts. 

So  secure  were  they  in  this  mountain  fastness 
that  the  Indians  even  kindled  a  fire  from  some  of 
the  store  of  wood  which  had  been  accumulated 
within  the  recesses  of  a  cave-like  opening  at 
the  back,  evidently  for  just  such  purposes  as 
this,  for  the  camp  was  apparently  a  favorite  one 
with  the  Half  Breed  or  with  the  Indians.  Meat 
was  soon  cooking,  and  in  a  short  time  her  por- 
tion, which  was  supplemented  by  some  hard 
bread  that  the  Half  Breed  had  somehow  pro- 

104 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  CANON 

cured,  and  a  canteen  full  of  cold  spring  water, 
was  handed  to  her.  She  ate  and  drank  raven- 
ously. For  one  reason  she  was  frightfully  hun- 
gry, and  for  another,  just  as  before,  she  would  eat 
that  she  might  live  and  battle  for  her  honor  and 
her  freedom.  She  needed  all  her  strength. 

The  Half  Breed  left  her  to  herself  until  the 
meal  was  over  and  pipes  had  been  produced. 
Then  he  came  toward  her. 

What  was  he  about  to  do?  She  rose  to  her 
feet  to  meet  him.  He  realized  he  had  made  a 
mistake  when  he  saw  her  step  swiftly  to  the  very 
brink  of  the  canon  and  stand  poised  thereon. 

"Girot,"  she  said  as  he  approached  her,  "if 
you  do  not  stop  where  you  are,  I  shall  leap  into 
the  canon." 

She  said  it  quietly,  without  any  unusual  em- 
phasis. There  was  a  bright  moon  that  night 
and  it  shone  down  through  the  canon.  She  was 
far  enough  from  the  overhanging  wall  to  be  in 
its  full  light.  He  could  see  every  feature  of  her 
face  distinctly.  There  was  that  in  her  bearing, 
and  in  her  voice,  quiet  though  it  was,  which  con- 
vinced him  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 

"Is  that  the  measure  of  your  hatred,  Made- 
105 


THE  WEST  WIND 

moiselle?"  he  answered  in  savage  disappoint- 
ment, for  he  could  not  conceive  that  any  one 
could  be  permanently  indifferent  to  him. 

"No,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  measure  to  it." 

"You  mean—" 

Now,  she  had  meant  that  her  hatred  was 
boundless,  deep  and  black  as  the  yawning  canon, 
high  and  firm  as  the  mountain  summit.  But, 
on  the  instant,  there  flashed  into  her  mind  the 
possibility  that  she  might  by  her  woman's  wit 
deceive  him.  The  Indians  were  lazily  smoking 
around  the  fire  save  for  the  solitary  man  out  of 
sight,  watching  the  narrow  trail,  and  the  two  or 
three  far  beyond  on  the  uplands.  The  Indian 
woman  sat  apart  intently  observing  the  two.  No 
one  else  was  watching  them.  From  where  the 
girl  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  shelf  she  could  see 
the  squaw,  who  was  sitting  quietly  facing  her 
some  distance  from  the  fire.  Her  hands  were 
clasped  as  if  in  entreaty.  What  could  she  mean? 
Was  there  a  suggestion  that  the  white  woman 
should  temporize,  a  plea  that  she  would  not 
throw  herself  over  the  shelf? 

Amy  Benham  knew  that  the  squaw  spoke  fair 
English,  and  understood  the  language,  for  she 

106 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  CANON 

herself  had  taught  her  in  days  gone  by  and  she 
knew  that  the  Indian  woman  must  have  compre- 
hended every  word  she  said  to  Girot  and  he  to 
her.  What  could  she  desire?  What  did  she 
propose?  At  any  rate  her  own  idea  and  this 
unconscious  suggestion  ran  together.  She  would 
act  upon  them. 

"If  I  come  nearer  to  you  and  leave  this  brink, 
will  you  promise  not  to  harm  me?"  she  asked. 

"I  swear  it." 

"On  what?" 

"On  what  you  will,  by  the  blood  of  my  father, 
by  the  memory  of  my  mother." 

Now,  if  the  Half  Breed  ever  had  any  religion 
at  all,  which  was  doubtful,  it  was  a  compound  of 
Indian  superstition,  with  a  smattering  of  Chris- 
tian teaching.  He  wore  a  crucifix  around  his 
neck,  marvelously  carved,  a  beautiful  piece  of 
workmanship. 

"Swear  by  that,"  she  said,  pointing. 

"By  your  Christ,  I  swear,"  said  the  Half  Breed 
with  his  hands  upon  the  holy  emblem. 

Instantly  she  stepped  toward  him,  and  he 
started  to  advance  to  her,  but  she  motioned  him 
back. 

107 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  yet.     Give  me  time." 
"Time!"  he  cried  in  exultant  triumph,  "you 


mean — " 


She  actually  forced  herself  to  smile  on  him, 
red-handed  -murderer  though  he  was.  As  she 
did  so  she  noticed  the  Indian  woman  nodding, 
after  a  furtive  glance  at  the  figures  about  the  fire, 
who,  because  they  were  so  near  the  light,  and 
were  dazzled  by  it,  could  see  little  that  went  on 
in  the  darkness  beyond. 

"You  must  guess  what  I  mean,"  said  the  girl, 
forcing  herself  to  speak  pleasantly  and  striving 
to  give  a  certain  emphasis  to  her  words.  "You 
have  paid  for  my  father's  life  by  saving  my 
own,"  she  added,  praying  God  to  forgive  her 
the  deceit. 

"True,  true,"  exclaimed  the  man,  drawing 
himself  up  proudly  and  throwing  his  head  back 
like  a  conqueror;  "there  is  no  one  else  in  the 
world  who  has  ever  come  through  White  Horse 
Rapids  alone,  to  say  nothing  of  bringing  a 
woman.  But  I  have  done  so  and  I  love  you." 

"It  was  splendid,"  said  the  girl,  once  again, 
waving  him  off  with  another  gesture  as  he  would 
fain  come  nearer  her.  "And  I  appreciate  it. 

108 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  CANON 

I  was  mad  when  I  spoke  of  throwing  myself  off 
the  brink  a  moment  since.  I  did  it  to  try  you> 
to  test  your  affection." 

"Then  you  do  not  hate  me?" 

"Hate  you!"  she  cried,  striving  with  all  her 
soul  not  to  give  the  real  significance  to  the  mon- 
osyllables that  she  forced  her  lips  to  utter  cheer- 
fully. "But  you  see  it  is  so  sudden,  and — "  she 
hesitated,  "give  me  time!  You  are  so  powerful, 
so  masterful,  I  realize  you  are  the  only  protector 
I  have  from  these  Indians,  that  without  you  I 
should  be—" 

He  nodded. 

"You  say  truly,  Mademoiselle." 

"I  appreciate  all  of  that,  but  you  said  that  you 
wanted  to  win  me.  Won't  you  give  me  a  chance 
to  learn  to — to  care" — she  could  not  force  her 
lips  to  say  "love" — "for  you?"  she  ran  on  desper- 
ately. "I  am  so  tired  now  and  worn  out.  This 
has  been  a  hard,  rough  wooing.  I  have  been 
bound  fast  a  long  time  and  I  am  nearly  dead  for 
want  of  sleep.  In  the  morning,  as  you  are  a 
gentleman — " 

Hideous  perversion  of  the  word,  she  thought, 
hating  herself  at  the  same  time  for  her  duplicity 

109 


•  THE  WEST  WIND 

and  yet  thrilling  to  see  that  it  was  working.  She 
had  struck  the  right  trail  to  the  stronghold  of 
his  vanity. 

"As  I  am  a  gentleman,  Mademoiselle,'7  he 
said  in  eager  joy,  "you  shall  rest  undisturbed 
this  night.  My  hand  upon  it- 
He  held  out  his  hand  theatrically,  as  he  spoke. 
The  hand  stained  with  her  father's  blood!  She 
forced  herself  by  the  exercise  of  as  terrible  a 
constraint  as  was  ever  put  upon  a  woman's  soul 
to  touch  it  with  her  own.  At  the  same  time  that 
she  did  so,  her  left  hand  slid  to  the  knife  hid  be- 
neath the  loose  blouse  she  wore.  If  he  meant 
to  break  his  word — well,  she  was  not  sufficiently 
removed  from  the  brink  to  render  it  impossible 
to  throw  herself  over  and  perhaps  drag  him 
along  with  her.  But  evidently  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  cozening  him  completely,  for  without 
drawing  her  toward  him,  he  pressed  his  lips  upon 
her  hand  with  some  gallant  habit  of  gesture  and 
some  grace  of  manner  inherited  from  bygone 
France  of  long  centuries  before. 

"You  shall  sleep  there,"  he  pointed  to  the  dark 
recess,  "and  Mah-wissa,  Yellow  Foot's  wife, 
shall  sleep  with  you.  I,  myself,  will  see  that  no 

no 


THE  CAMP  IN  THE  CANON 

harm  comes  to  you.  I  am  a  great  man  among 
the  Sioux.  There  is  war  in  the  land.  Crazy 
Horse  leads  and  all  the  other  chiefs  will  follow. 
There  will  be  blood.  He  is  a  great  chief  and 
I  shall  be  his«friend  and  counselor." 

"But  the  United  States  will  win  in  the  end/' 
said  the  girl. 

"Oh,  yes,  perhaps  so,  but  there  is  always  Brit- 
ish Columbia.  We  can  be  far  away." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "far  away." 

"In  the  morning,  then,  Mademoiselle,  I  shall 
find  you." 

"In  the  morning,"  said  the  girl,  "you  shall 
find  me  all  that  I  ought  to  be  toward  you." 

It  was  a  daring  thing  to  say,  but  he  was  so 
blinded  by  her  apparent  complaisance,  by  the 
probable  realization  of  his  hopes,  and  further  by 
his  egregious  self-conceit,  that  he  failed  to  com- 
prehend the  double  meaning  of  her  words. 

Saluting  her  like  a  gentleman  by  doffing  his 
hat,  he  bowed  low  before  her,  turned  and  spoke 
a  few  words  to  Mah-wissa  and  left  her  to  her 
own  devices  for  the  time  being. 


in 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MAH-WISSA,  THE  BLUE  BIRD 

SOMEHOW  or  other,  when  Amy  Benham 
laid  herself  down  to  rest  if  she  could  on  the 
hard,  rough  stones  in  the  niche  farthest  away 
from  the  dying  camp  fire  and  nearest  the  narrow 
entrance  to  the  trail,  with  the  form  of  the  Indian 
woman  quite  near  and  interposing  between  her 
and  the  rest  of  the  party,  she  experienced  a  sense 
of  safety  and  security  which  she  had  not  hitherto 
enjoyed  in  that  long  and  awful  day.  Even  the 
hard  rocks  upon  which  she  reclined  were  not  un- 
comfortable to  her.  She  could  stretch  her  tired 
limbs  upon  them  and  get  some  ease  and  rest. 
She  had  passed  through  enough  since  that 
blighted  morning  to  have  broken  the  nerve  and 
courage  of  gigantic  Sullivan  himself,  she 
thought. 

Yet  sleep  was  far  away  from  her.  She  lay 
with  wide-open  eyes  staring  past  the  Indian 
woman,  toward  the  group  around  the  fire.  They 

112 


MAH-WISSA 

had  nothing  to  keep  them  awake,  and,  like 
most  primitive  peoples,  grew  sleepy  so  soon  as  it 
became  dark.  They,  too,  had  gone  through  a 
hard  day,  and  they  had  neither  compunctions  of 
conscience  nor  premonitions  of  trouble  to  keep 
them  awake  and  on  the  alert.  One  after  another 
they  early  wrapped  themselves  in  their  blankets 
and  disposed  themselves  for  the  night  around  the 
dying  embers  of  the  fire.  The  night  was  warm 
enough,  they  were  well  sheltered  and  protected 
and  there  was  no  need  to  keep  up  the  fire.  Fuel 
was  not  abundant  and  it  was  therefore  permitted 
to  die  out. 

The  Half  Breed,  who  had  been  smoking  and 
talking  with  the  rest,  rose  to  his  feet  after  a  while 
and  took  a  step  or  two  in  her  direction.  Her 
heart  throbbed  wildly  and  her  hands  sought  the 
knife  which  she  had  kept  concealed.  But  the 
man  evidently  thought  better  of  whatever  inten- 
tion he  had  cherished,  if  indeed  there  had  been 
any  motive  in  his  movements,  for  he  turned 
back  and  presently  laid  down  with  the  others, 
and  so  far  as  she  could  judge,  soon  went  to 
sleep. 

The  Indian  woman  near  her,  who  had  watched 


THE  WEST  WIND 

the  course  of  events  as  closely  as  the  white  girl, 
did  not  move  for  a  long  time  thereafter.  Yet 
she  did  not  sleep  herself  and  took  occasion  to 
signify  to  her  companion  by  gesture  that  she  was 
wide  awake.  Amy  Benham  was  more  confident 
than  ever  that  in  her  she  had  most  opportunely 
found  a  friend.  She  trusted  to  the  savage 
woman's  instinct  to  decide  upon  just  the  right 
time  for  telling  her  whatever  there  was  to  be 
told  and  for  doing  whatever  there  was  to  be  done. 
So  with  growing  hope  and  excitement,  she 
waited,  praying. 

Finally,  after  perhaps  a  vigil  of  two  hours  or 
more,  during  which  the  last  ember  of  the  fire  had 
seemingly  died  out,  Mah-wissa  turned  and, 
without  making  a  sound,  laid  her  hand  upon  her 
white  sister.  The  girl  immediately  sat  up. 
Mah-wissa,  thereupon,  noiselessly  arose  to  her 
feet,  extended  her  hand  and  lifted  her  compan- 
ion to  her  side.  As  she  did  so,  a  thought  seemed 
to  strike  her.  She  knelt  down  and  examined  by 
touch  the  feet  of  the  girl.  She  discovered,  as 
she  had  suspected,  that  Amy  was  wearing  a  pair 
of  low  shoes,  little  more  than  morning  slippers. 
Had  they  not  been  secured  by  a  strap  which  but- 

114 


MAH-WISSA 

toned  about  her  ankles  she  would  have  lost  them 
long  since  in  all  probability. 

Motioning  the  girl  to  sit  again,  the  squaw 
rapidly  drew  off  the  slippers.  Taking  off  her 
own  moccasins,  she  tied  them  securely  on  the 
white  woman's  feet.  Then  the  two  rose  again 
and  in  obedience  to  a  gesture,  Amy  Benham  fol- 
lowed the  Indian  woman,  who  led  the  way, 
slowly  and  cautiously  along  the  deep,  black,  im- 
penetrable shadow  of  the  rock  toward  the  trail 
over  which  they  had  come. 

Their  progress  was  very  deliberate.  Mah- 
wissa  did  not  put  her  bare  feet  down  until  by 
exploring  she  discovered  no  loose  pebble  which 
by  its  rolling  might  cause  them  to  slip  and 
awaken  those  lightest  of  sleepers,  the  Indians  be- 
hind them,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Half  Breed. 
Amy,  herself,  was  not  without  some  Western 
skill  of  her  own  as  a  trailer,  and  she  was  nerved 
to  the  occasion  by  the  desperate  hazard.  She 
was  even  more  cautious  in  her  going  than  the 
squaw. 

She  did  not  know  what  was  about  to  happen, 
but  she  realized  that  some  effort  for  her  freedom 
was  being  made,  and  that  her  safety  lay  in  si- 


THE  WEST  WIND 

lently  following  the  motions  of  her  guide  without 
question  or  hesitation.  She  was  sufficiently  in- 
telligent, although  she  had  never  accompanied  a 
war  party  before,  to  see  the  necessity  of  station- 
ing a  watchman  at  the  mouth  of  the  trail  up 
which  they  had  to  come.  How  they  were  to 
pass  that  watchman  she  did  not  divine.  If  she 
thought  at  all  about  it,  moving  ghostlike  and  si- 
lent along  the  cliff  wall,  she  supposed  the  squaw 
had  made  some  arrangement  with  him  to  let 
them  pass.  At  any  rate,  she  was  helpless,  and 
could  only  follow  blindly  on.  Slow  as  was  their 
progress,  they  traversed  the  ground  at  last. 

Now  the  moon  had  so  far  sunk  with  reference 
to  the  canon  that  its  light  fell  on  but  one  spot, 
and  that  was  the  jutting  point  around  which  they 
must  pass,  and  beyond  which  the  sentry  watched 
the  trail.  By  no  possibility  could  they  yet  have 
been  observed,  even  if  any  had  been  awake,  from 
the  main  body  of  sleepers,  but  if  any  one  were 
awake  when  they  rounded  that  point,  discovery 
would  be  certain. 

Amy  resolved  that  rather  than  be  retaken  after 
having  thus  ventured  upon  an  attempt  to  escape, 
especially  since  she  had  tried  to  deceive  the  Half 

116 


MAH-WISSA 

Breed  with  promises  of  a  different  state  of  mind, 
in  the  morning,  she  would  at  once  leap  over  the 
cliff,  for  she  knew  that  with  such  a  demonstra- 
tion of  the  falsity  of  her  promises  as  her  flight 
presented,  she  might  expect  no  mercy. 

Just  before  it  became  necessary  to  step  into 
the  moonlight,  the  Indian  woman  turned,  and 
with  a  gesture  halted  her  companion. 

"Wait,"  she  whispered  faintly,  the  first  word 
she  had  spoken. 

Amy  nodded.  The  next  moment,  flashing 
white  for  a  second  in  the  moonlight,  the  squaw 
with  a  few  swift,  noiseless  steps  disappeared 
around  the  promontory. 

Anxiously  looking  back  from  the  shadow  to- 
ward the  group  about  the  fire,  the  woman  dis- 
covered no  evidence  that  they  had  been  observed. 
All  was  still  behind  her  as  before.  No  one 
moved.  No  one  called  out.  Then  her  glance 
turned  forward  in  the  direction  her  guide  had 
gone.  She  could  hear  no  noise  that  way  either, 
except  the  wind  softly  swaying  the  pines  far 
above  her  head,  or  soughing  gently  down  the 
narrow  mountain  pass.  The  gentle  night  breeze 
cooled  her  aching  head  and  burning  cheeks. 

117 


THE  WEST  WIND 

Her  lips  were  parched  with  thirst;  she  strove 
in  vain  to  moisten  them  with  her  tongue  and 
would  have  given  much  for  a  drink  of  water. 
So  she  waited,  expectant,  fearful,  hopeful. 

What  was  happening  on  the  other  side  of  that 
promontory?  She  strained  her  ears  for  possible 
whispers  of  conversation,  but  none  came  back 
to  her.  She  stared  at  the  sharp  edge  of  the  rock 
around  which  the  trail  bent  so  quickly  as  to 
make  the  feat  of  leading  horses  there  almost  an 
incredible  one. 

Suddenly  something  seemed  to  move  on  the 
edge  of  the  rock.  Cautiously  a  head  peered 
around  it.  Moonlight  disclosed  a  face,  the 
face  of  Mah-wissa.  There  was  no  mistake 
about  it.  The  squaw  caught  the  white  woman's 
eye.  There  was  a  little  backward  jerk  of  her 
head  and  she  was  gone.  The  meaning  of  the 
signal  was  obvious.  Amy  Benham  was  to  come 
on.  The  way  was  open,  safe. 

Nerving  herself  for  the  fearful  passage,  and 
realizing  that  she  was  not  so  sure-footed  or  so 
clear-headed  as  the  squaw  and  that  it  would 
take  longer  for  her  to  make  the  turn,  and  that 
therefore  the  chances  that  she  would  be  seen 

118 


MAH-WISSA 

would  be  greater,  she  started  forward.  She 
would  fain  have  closed  her  eyes  in  view  of  the 
yawning  gulf  to  her  right,  but  she  held  them 
bravely  open,  and  stepped  on.  Now  she  was  in 
the  full  moonlight.  She  could  hear  her  heart 
beating  so  loud  that  it  seemed  to  send  echoes 
rolling  down  the  canon.  She  was  sure  that  she 
was  observed.  She  expected  every  second  to 
hear  the  alarm  cry  behind  her;  to  feel  a  bullet 
in  her  back.  She  would  have  given  worlds  to 
have  looked  back  but  could  not  do  so.  She  must 
press  on.  It  took  but  a  second  or  two  but  it 
seemed  hours  before  she  rounded  the  rock. 

Then  she  stopped,  breathing  hard,  leaning 
against  the  wall  to  the  left  of  her  and  listened. 
Again  nothing  broke  the  profound  silence;  no 
voice,  no  call,  no  footsteps.  She  had  not  been 
observed  apparently.  In  the  relief  from  the  aw- 
ful strain  she  swayed  and  would  have  fallen  had 
not  the  Indian  woman  caught  her  and  given  her 
a  little  shake  of  impatience  as  she  did  so,  which 
recalled  her  to  herself. 

This  side  of  the  promontory  was  in  full  moon- 
light. The  first  object  that  greeted  her  eyes 
was  the  dead  body  of  the  Indian  who  had  been 

119 


THE  WEST  WIND 

the  sentry,  sprawling  on  his  face,  on  the  narrow 
trail.  They  had  to  step  over  him  to  go  farther. 

"You  killed  him!"  whispered  the  awe-struck 
girl. 

The  Indian  woman  nodded  indifferently. 
She  was  not  inclined  to  speech,  and  apparently 
considering  the  matter  of  no  consequence  and 
not  worth  discussion,  she  pressed  on  down  the 
trail.  She  went  carefully  still,  but  more  and 
more  swiftly,  until  by  and  by,  as  the  path  widened 
and  became  more  practicable,  she  broke  into  an 
Indian  dog  trot,  her  companion  pressing  hard 
upon  her  heels. 

Now  it  is  probable  that  more  ground  can  be 
covered  in  less  time,  if  the  distance  be  a  long  one, 
at  that  gait  than  any  other,  but  the  pace  is  a  tell- 
ing one,  especially  on  uneven  ground,  the  ups 
and  downs  of  a  rocky  trail.  Moreover,  while 
the  moccasin  is  the  best  of  running  shoes  for 
those  who  are  used  to  it,  it  does  not  take  the 
place  on  the  civilized  foot  of  a  stout  boot  for 
such  going  as  that. 

Amy  Benham  was  a  splendidly  developed 
girl.  Every  athletic  exercise  to  which  young 
womanhood  is  addicted  she  had  practiced  and 

120 


"You  killed  him?"  whispered  the  awe-struck  girl 


MAH-WISSA 

become  proficient  in,  and  her  young  muscles 
were  in  thorough  training.  She  had  all  the 
vigor  and  strength  of  that  west  wind  for  which 
she  was  named.  But,  as  the  moments  passed 
by  until  perhaps  two  hours  or  more  had  elapsed, 
in  their  silent  plod,  plod,  plod,  down  the  canon, 
her  strength  began  to  give  out.  She  lagged 
farther  and  farther  behind,  until  presently  the 
squaw  herself  turned  and  saw  her  condition. 
The  white  girl  was  in  fact  utterly  worn  out. 

Mah-wissa  stopped  instantly.  By  great  good 
fortune  the  break-down  had  occurred  just  at  the 
one  practicable  spot  for  a  descent  to  the  canon, 
where  if  they  could  cross  the  river  a  lateral 
canon  seemed  to  open  a  way  for  further  progress. 
Although  to  where  it  led  they  were  ignorant, 
they  could  see  a  rift  in  the  opposite  wall,  which 
might  probably  afford  them  shelter,  for  in  their 
condition  they  could  no  longer  proceed  along 
the  present  trail  until  they  reached  the  broad 
plateau  at  the  mouth  of  the  canon,  with  its  woods 
and  hills,  among  which  they  might  perhaps 
have  hidden. 

The  best  thing  for  them  to  do  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, Mah-wissa  decided,  would  be  to  de- 

121 


THE  WEST  WIND 

scend  to  the  level  of  the  stream,  cross  it,  ascend 
the  lateral  canon  and  conceal  themselves  in  some 
crevice  in  the  walls  of  the  mountain  on  the  other 
side.  The  ground  was  rocky  and  it  was  likely 
that  trailing  would  be  more  difficult,  besides,  the 
Indians  would  not  dare  retrace  their  steps  too 
far.  Otherwise  they  would  be  running  into  some 
of  the  parties  which  Amy  Benham  and  Mah- 
wissa  divined  would  be  following  after  them. 
The  chances  of  escape  therefore  were  ultimately 
favorable  to  these  two. 

Mah-wissa  did  the  thinking  for  the  party. 
Amy  left  the  decision  entirely  to  her.  Indeed, 
she  was  too  worn  out  to  determine  anything. 
Seeing  how  exhausted  the  girl  was,  the  Indian 
woman  pointed  to  the  declivity,  sharp  enough 
in  all  conscience,  and  immediately  turned  and 
slipped  over  the  surface  wall.  For  her  to  decide 
was  to  attempt.  The  moon,  now  low  on  the  hori- 
zon, still  gave  them  enough  light  to  enable  them 
to  reach  the  bottom  safely.  Otherwise  they 
would  have  been  totally  unable  to  make  the  de- 
scent without  falling.  As  it  was,  it  was  a  fearful 
adventure.  With  clothes  torn,  with  bleeding 
hands,  with  bruised  body,  with  moccasins  in 

122 


MAH-WISSA 

rags,  Amy  Benham  finally  reached  the  level  of 
the  river.  The  squaw  had  also  suffered  in  the 
descent  but  not  to  the  extent  of  the  more  deli- 
cately nurtured  white  woman. 

Tired,  exhausted,  bruised,  broken,  suffering 
though  they  were,  they  did  not  dare  to  rest  more 
than  five  minutes  to  recover  breath  and  resum- 
mon  strength.  Fortunately  they  had  struck  the 
stream  at  a  point  where  it  was  possible  to  cross 
the  swift-flowing  river  by  means  of  huge 
bowlders  which  had  been  rolled  down  from 
either  side  in  the  floods  of  centuries  which  had 
swept  through  the  canon.  Leaping  from  rock 
to  rock,  now  landing  upon  some  jagged  pinnacle, 
now  sliding  on  some  slippery  knob,  several  times 
the  white  girl  would  have  fallen  into  the  raging 
torrent  but  for  the  ready  assistance  of  the  Indian 
woman.  At  last  they  reached  the  other  side. 


123 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  HELP  OF  THE  HELPLESS 

AMY  BENHAM  fell  panting  on  the  little 
patch  of  soft,  wet  sand  which  had  ac- 
cumulated behind  a  jutting  bowlder  which 
deflected  the  current  of  the  stream.  As  she 
sank  down,  she  pointed  to  her  feet.  Mah-wissa 
stooped  and  examined  them.  The  moccasins 
had  been  badly  torn  but  there  was  still  some 
service  in  them.  The  squaw  wore  the  usual 
Indian  blanket.  With  the  same  knife  with 
which  she  had  stabbed  the  watcher  in  the  trail, 
she  cut  long  strips  from  it  and  bound  them 
deftly  about  the  other's  feet.  Her  own,  in  the 
moccasins  which  she  had  taken  from  the  Indian 
she  had  killed,  were  also  bruised  and  bleeding, 
but  that  did  not  matter;  she  was  used  to  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  with  the  stoical  endurance  of 
her  race,  she  would  go  without  complaint  until 
the  very  flesh  was  stripped  from  the  bones. 
Laving  her  face  and  hands  in  the  cool  water 
124 


HELP  OF  THE  HELPLESS 

of  the  river,  and  drinking  copious  draughts  of 
it,  restored  Amy  somewhat.  Presently  she  rose, 
weary  but  ready  for  the  further  progress 
that  was  inevitable.  With  Mah-wissa  once 
more  in  the  lead,  the  two  tired  but  indomitable 
women  turned  into  the  black  opening  in  the 
mountain  wall  to  their  right. 

They  soon  found  that  they  were  in  a  steep 
lateral  canon,  the  trend  of  which  was  generally 
upward.  Fortunately  the  going  was  not  too 
hard  at  first,  for  the  rift  apparently  led  to  a 
grassy  upland,  and  recent  rains  had  washed  the 
soil  down  until  the  sharp  rocks  had  been  hid  by 
a  covering  of  soft  earth.  A  half  hour's  des- 
perate climb,  every  moment  growing  more  dif- 
ficult and  more  dangerous,  at  last  brought  them 
to  the  top.  The  ground  fell  away  sharply  in 
front  of  them.  The  wall  of  the  canon  behind 
them  was  evidently  a  sharp  ridge  barely  scal- 
able at  that  point,  the  only  one  for  miles  in  its 
long,  twisting  course,  by  the  way. 

Off  to  the  right  the  mountains  rose  again  in 
the  shape  of  gigantic  cliffs.  To  the  left,  so 
far  as  they  could  tell  in  the  now  almost  vanished 
moonlight,  lay  a  deep  valley.  The  sinking 

125 


THE  WEST  WIND 

moon  indicated  that  several  miles  away  rose  an- 
other lower  wall  of  rocks.  It  seemed  to  them 
that  they  had  practically  crossed  the  range  in 
their  desperate  flight. 

They  did  not  waste  much  time  in  speculating 
upon  the  scenery,  but  with  Mah-wissa  once  more 
leading,  they  plodded  rapidly  down  the  steep 
declivity,  keeping  carefully  toward  the  rise  of 
the  mountain  wall  on  the  right.  They  stayed 
just  far  enough  from  it  to  avoid  the  great  mass 
of  bowlders  and  broken  rocks  which  lay  at  the 
feet  of  the  high  precipice  to  the  northward. 
They  staggered  wearily,  but  desperately  on,  this 
time  side  by  side. 

There  being  now  no  danger  of  their  being 
overheard,  Amy  Benham  ventured  to  speak 
openly  with  her  companion.  There  was  some- 
thing which  ought  to  be  explained.  She 
wanted  to  know  why  the  squaw  had  made  such 
a  sacrifice  for  her,  and  put  herself  in  such  dan- 
ger, for  well  Amy  Benham  knew  that  short 
would  be  the  shrift  of  the  Indian  woman  if  they 
were  caught  by  any  of  the  tribe. 

Some  years  before  this  tremendous  adventure, 
while  on  a  hunting  expedition  with  her  father 

126 


HELP  OF  THE  HELPLESS 

and  other  friends,  she  had  met  Mah-wissa.  Rid- 
ing a  few  miles  from  the  hunting  camp  one 
morning,  up  one  of  the  valleys  her  father 
claimed  as  his  own,  she  had  come  across  a 
wretched  Indian  woman  holding  in  her  arms  a 
baby.  The  woman  had  a  few  belongings  about 
her,  a  little  food,  a  sorry  pony,  and  a  tattered 
tepee,  but  she  seemed  utterly  oblivious  to  any- 
thing except  the  child  she  held  to  her  breast, 
who  was  suffering  from  a  case  of  malignant 
smallpox.  When  the  little  pappoose,  her  first 
and  only  child,  had  developed  the  disease,  the 
woman  had  been  mercilessly  turned  out  of  the 
camp  and  left  with  her  offspring  until  both  re- 
covered or  perished — Hagar  and  Ishmael 
again ! 

Ninety-nine  white  men  and  women  out  of  a 
hundred  would  have  fled  from  possible  infection 
in  horror,  but,  as  I  have  said,  Amy  Benham,  this 
daughter  of  the  West,  was  always  in  the  hun- 
dredth woman  class.  Her  woman's  heart  was 
touched  by  the  plight  of  her  forlorn  and  desolate 
red  sister.  She  had  some  knowledge  of  medicine 
and  she  actually  stayed  out  on  the  heath,  with- 
drawing herself  from  the  hunting  party,  for- 

127 


THE  WEST  WIND 

bidding  any  of  them  to  come  near  her,  and  re- 
mained with  the  poor  squaw,  doing  what  she 
could  for  the  abandoned  woman  and  child  until 
the  child  died.  Even  then,  she  remained  still 
longer,  until  it  was  quite  evident  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  any  further  infection  to  either  of 
them. 

Thereafter,  one  night,  with  brief,  taciturn 
words  of  acknowledgment  in  her  broken  Eng- 
lish, the  squaw  had  bade  her  farewell  and  had 
turned  away  on  her  long  tramp  northwest  to 
join  her  own  people.  That  she  had  not  for- 
got the  kindness  of  the  white  woman  was  quite 
evident  from  what  she  was  doing  now.  Truly 
the  West  Wind  had  scattered  bread  upon  the 
waters,  and  it  had  returned  to  her  after  these 
many  days. 

"Mah-wissa,"  said  Amy,  "what  did  you  do  to 
the  man  in  the  pass?" 

"Kill  him.  He  kick  me  away  from  camp 
when  pappoose  sick.  They  all  do  same." 

"But  your  husband?" 

"He  say  'go'  then.     He  beat  me." 

"Are  you  not  Yellow  Foot's  wife?" 

"He  plenty  other  squaw.  Me  only  one,"  re- 
128 


HELP  OF  THE  HELPLESS 
turned  the  woman  darkly.     "Me  gone,  he  no 


care." 


"How  did  you  come  to  be  with  that  war 
party?" 

"Hear  Girot  make  plan  take  you.  I  follow 
long  time.  Find  them  last  night.  Yellow 
Foot  say,  'She  here,  she  stay.'  I  come  help  save 
you." 

"God  bless  you!"  cried  the  girl. 

"I  no  forget,"  returned  the  other  gravely. 

In  the  dim  light  Amy  reached  out  and  caught 
the  small,  brown  hand  of  her  companion  and 
pressed  it  ardently. 

"You  have  saved  me  from  more  than  death!" 
she  said. 

The  squaw  nodded.  She  perfectly  well  knew 
from  what  she  had  saved  her  white  sister. 

"I  do  not  know  how  I  can  ever  thank  you  as 
long  as  I  live,"  continued  the  girl  in  grateful 
earnestness. 

"You  brave  woman,"  was  the  answer.  "You 
no  'f  raid.  My  little  pappoose,  he  die  hold  your 
hands.  I  no  forget." 

"But  your  own  people?" 

"They  no  care.  They  drive  me  away.  I 
129 


THE  WEST  WIND 

stay  with  you  now  all  time.     I  live  with  you. 
I  die  with  you." 

The  words  of  an  old,  old  book,  the  book  of 
Holy  Writ,  came  into  Amy's  mind. 

Intreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to  return  from  following 
after  thee;  for  whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go;  and  where 
thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people 
and  thy  God  my  God;  Where  thou  diest,  will  I  die,  and 
there  will  I  be  buried;  the  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more 
also,  if  aught  but  death  part  thee  and  me. 

In  effect  the  untutored  Indian  woman  was  say- 
ing what  Ruth  had  said  to  Naomi  so  long  ago 
on  the  other  side  of  the  world. 

This  matter  now  settled  to  Amy's  satisfaction, 
they  plodded  on  for  a  few  moments  more  in 
silence,  saving  all  their  breath  for  their  work. 
By  this  time  the  white  woman  was  utterly  ex- 
hausted and  even  the  indomitable  Indian 
woman  began  to  show  signs  of  distress.  Just 
as  Amy  was  about  to  declare  her  inability  to  go 
a  step  farther,  the  Indian  woman  started, 
stopped,  turned  her  head  so  that  her  ear  could 
catch  any  sound  from  the  direction  whence  they 
had  come.  Naturally  Amy  suited  her  action  to 
the  other's,  and  both  stood  listening,  the  white 
woman  for  she  knew  not  what. 

130 


HELP  OF  THE  HELPLESS 

Presently  she  started  violently.  Faint  and 
far,  yet  sufficiently  distinct  to  identify  it,  they 
heard  cracking  sounds  as  though  of  the  firing 
of  rifles.  They  had  come  a  great  distance  from 
the  camp  of  the  night,  but  the  peculiar  forma- 
tion of  the  canon  in  which  it  had  been  pitched 
served  to  intensify  the  sound  of  rifle  shots  and 
send  their  echoings  rolling  far  into  the  vast  space 
about  them.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it! 
There  was  firing  at  the  camp!  Their  escape 
had  been  discovered.  Pursuit  would  be  begun. 

Instantly  the  two  women  turned  to  each  other. 
Tightening  their  hand  clasp,  they  broke  into  a 
staggering  run,  their  first  thought  being  to 
put  further  distance  between  them  and  those 
whom  they  feared  would  be  upon  their  track. 
Terror  lent  them  strength  for  a  little  space. 
Desperation  renewed  their  courage.  With 
racked  muscles  and  tired  feet  and  broken  bodies, 
they  toiled  on,  listening  as  they  ran  for  further 
sounds,  which,  however,  did  not  come.  Why 
should  there  be  additional  firing?  Once  the 
alarm  had  been  given  they  would  be  hunted 
silently. 

On  and  on  they  went  until  the  first  faint  fore- 


THE  WEST  WIND 

runner  of  dawn  appeared  in  the  east,  when  sud- 
denly, without  a  word,  Mah-wissa  plunged  head- 
long. ,With  a  convulsive  shudder,  she  lay  still 
where  she  had  fallen.  Utterly  at  loss  to  account 
for  it,  the  girl,  overwhelmed  and  appalled  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  catastrophe,  dropped  on 
her  knees  beside  her  friend  and  turned  her  over 
on  her  face.  Blood  was  flowing  freely  from  a 
jagged  wound  in  her  forehead,  caused  by  her 
head  striking  a  rock  when  she  fell.  Fortu- 
nately, they  were  near  water.  A  spring,  seen 
faintly  in  the  dim  gray  light  of  the  coming 
day,  bubbled  out  of  the  rocks  near  by.  Des- 
perately rising  to  her  feet,  the  girl  dragged  her- 
self to  the  spring,  a  strip  torn  from  her  skirt  was 
soaked  in  the  cool  water,  and  she  came  back 
and  applied  it  to  the  prostrate  Indian's  head. 
She  was  made  of  stout  stuff,  this  savage,  and  was 
soon  revived.  She  sat  up,  and  as  she  did  so,  in 
spite  of  her  Indian  stoicism,  groaned. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  girl  in  anxious  ten- 
derness. 

"Foot,"  was  the  grim  answer,  as  the  brave 
woman  bit  her  lips  to  stifle  any  further  expres- 
sion of  her  suffering. 

132 


HELP  OF  THE  HELPLESS 

An  examination  revealed  the  fact  that — won- 
der of  wonders  for  an  Indian! — Mah-wissa  had 
sprained  her  ankle  severely  in  her  hurry.  This 
had  caused  her  to  fall  and  be  knocked  senseless. 
Her  present  agony  would  have  made  a  less 
stoical  person  scream  with  the  anguish. 

"I  am  afraid,"  Amy  said  at  last,  "it  is  badly 
sprained.  You  cannot  walk  upon  it.  O  God, 
what  shall  we  do?" 

"You  go  on,"  said  Mah-wissa.  "Leave  me. 
They  find  me.  I  no  tell  where  you  go." 

"No,"  was  the  reply;  "I  shall  stay  with  you." 
If  Ruth  would  not  leave  Naomi,  she  thought  to 
herself,  neither  would  Naomi  leave  Ruth. 
"We  must  hide  somewhere.  Perhaps  they  can- 
not find  us  here.  Our  trail  ought  to  be  hard  to 
follow.  If  it  rains  it  will  be  completely  ob- 
literated. See!  it  looks  threatening." 

"Rain  will  come,"  said  Mah-wissa,  "but 
maybe  too  late." 

"We  shall  have  to  chance  it,"  said  the  other 
woman  resolutely.  "Meanwhile,  we  must  stay 
here  anyway,  for  I  can  go  no  farther.  I  am 
worn  out."  Here  she  pointed  to  her  own  feet; 
the  strips  of  blanket  were  stained  with  blood. 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Look,"  she  said;  "every  step  is  torture  to  me. 
I  am  ready  to  die  and  we  will  die  together  if 
need  be." 

"You  good  woman!  You  brave  woman!" 
said  the  Indian  gently,  her  eyes  luminous. 

"No,"  said  the  girl  quietly,  "I  am  only  doing 
as  I  would  be  done  by.  I  am  doing  for  you 
what  you  have  tried  to  do  for  me.  First,  I  will 
bathe  and  bind  up  your  ankle,  and  then,  we  will 
wait  here  quietly  and  rest  until  daybreak,  then 
we  will  see  what  is  to  be  done.  God  has  helped 
us.  He  will  not  desert  us  now,  I  am  sure." 


134 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS 

THE  day  on  which  the  soldiers  left  Fort 
McCullough  was  not  to  pass  without  its 
adventures.  Proceeding  as  rapidly  as  his  ex- 
perience had  taught  him  was  consistent  with  the 
most  judicious  use  of  his  horses,  Kennard's 
troop  had  made  great  progress.  The  going  was 
fine,  comparatively  speaking.  They  were  ham- 
pered by  no  deep  ravines  or  treacherous  quick- 
sands. These  would  come  later  when  they 
struck  the  river  below  the  rapids.  They  took 
every  advantage  of  the  situation,  therefore,  to 
gain  on  the  fugitives. 

They  unsaddled  and  rested  for  an  hour  at 
noon,  although  if  the  Captain  had  consulted  his 
own  inclinations  he  would  have  pressed  on  reso- 
lutely without  stopping  for  a  moment.  The 
brief  respite,  however,  was  well  devised,  for  they 
were  all  much  refreshed  by  it  and  were  able  to 

135 


THE  WEST  WIND 

make  better  time  in  the  afternoon  than  other- 
wise. 

About  two  o'clock,  Kennard,  riding  in  ad- 
vance, heard  the  sound  of  rifle  shots  from  the 
other  side  of  the  hill  in  front  of  them.  A  half 
dozen  reports  caught  his  ear,  and  the  sound 
seemed  to  indicate  that  some  one  was  making 
a  running  fight  and  coming  toward  them. 
Noiselessly,  without  sound  of  bugle,  he  de- 
ployed his  men.  The  troopers  took  wide  dis- 
tance and  thus  covered  a  considerable  expanse  of 
country.  Rifles  were  unslung,  and  every  prep- 
aration made  for  whatever  emergency  might  de- 
velop. All  things  being  in  readiness,  the  troop- 
ers trotted  toward  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

They  had  scarcely  attained  midway  of  the 
slope  when  over  its  brow  burst  two  Indians  flee- 
ing at  the  full  speed  of  their  ponies.  Aston- 
ished at  the  appearance  of  the  soldiers,  the  two 
Indians  checked  their  ponies  violently,  swerved 
to  the  right,  and  made  a  rush  for  life  and  free- 
dom. 

With  shouts  of  triumph  the  troopers  dashed 
upon  them.  A  well-directed  volley  from  the 
nearest  soldiers  killed  the  horses  and  one  of  the 

136 


THE  TRAIL 

Indians.  The  other  struggled  to  his  feet  as  his 
horse  fell,  discharged  his  rifle  harmlessly  at  the 
nearest  soldier,  and  was  in  turn  shot  and  riddem 
down  at  the  same  time. 

The  dash  of  the  troop  carried  it  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  before  it  was  spent.  Some  little  dis- 
tance away  they  saw  four  men  galloping  toward! 
the  crest.  Evidently  these  had  been  pursuing 
the  Indians,  who,  in  their  endeavor  to  escape, 
had  run  into  the  arms  of  Kennard's  troop.  A 
few  moments  and  the  two  parties  had  joined. 
Under  the  orders  of  Hamilton  and  Bodley,  the 
two  lieutenants,  the  company  had  rapidly  re- 
formed in  line  and  halted.  Kennard,  attend- 
ed by  Hamilton,  rode  forward  to  meet  the 
newcomers.  It  was  they  who  broke  the  sil- 
ence. 

"You  got  'em,  I  see,"  said  the  grizzled  little 
old  man  who  seemed  to  be  leading  the  party. 

"Yes,"  said  Kennard,  "we  did.  Who  and 
what  are  they?" 

"They  're  Oglala  Sioux.  We  think  they  be- 
longs to  a  party  that  was  connected  with  the 
killin'  of  old  Colonel  Benham  an'  the  abductia* 
of  his  gal  this  mornin'." 

137 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Have  you  any  tidings  of  Miss  Benham?" 
asked  Kennard  eagerly. 

"None  yit.  We  thought  we  mought  git  some 
from  them  fellers,"  answered  the  old  man,  point- 
ing to  the  dead  Indians.  "Who  mought  you 
be?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  Captain  Kennard  of  the  United  States 
Army,  and  you  are — " 

"My  name  is  Meekins,  giner'ly  called  'Bud' 
round  these  parts.  I  'm  hunter,  trapper,  an' 
prospector." 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Meekins;  I  Ve  heard 
of  you  often,"  answered  the  soldier,  reaching 
out  his  hand,  which  the  other  took  and  shook 
vigorously.  "I  am  on  the  same  quest.  The 
Sioux  are  out  and  the  Cheyennes  will  join 
them." 

Meekins  nodded. 

"I  heerd  it,"  he  said. 

"Colonel  Wainwright  got  a  telegram  from 
General  Crook  this  morning.  We  are  ordered 
to  move  and  join  the  General  on  the  Rosebud — 
the  Dead  Canon.  You  know  where  it  is." 

"Sartin." 

"I  have  been  given  the  privilege  of  coming 

138 


THE  TRAIL 

out  a  few  hours  in  advance  to  search  for  Miss 
Benham  and  her  abductors." 

"Well,  I  am  on  that  same  trail,  Cap'n," 
Meekins  began,  his  eyes  sparkling.  "We  traced 
'em  down  to  the  river  by  the  ranch,  an'  then 
found  the  trail  of  their  hosses  crossin'  the  river 
an'  takin'  to  the  uplands.  There  was  signs  also 
that  somebody  had  gone  down  the  river  in  a 
canoe.  We  divided  our  party,  some  for  the 
river  and  others  for  the  hosses,  an'  as  I'm  the 
best  trailer  in  the  bunch,  I  follered  this  lead. 
Sullivan  an'  the  others  went  down  the  river. 
Where  be  you  bound  for?" 

"I  thought  I  would  strike  the  river  below 
White  Horse  Rapids  and  see  if  I  could  pick  up 
the  trail  there." 

"That  '11  be  the  best  plan.  I  '11  go  'long  with 
you,  me  an'  these  gents,  if  you  Ve  no  objection. 
What  say  ye,  Johnson?" 

"Sure,"  was  the  reply  of  the  cattleman, 
"That 's  what  we  come  for." 

"Now  then,  Cap'n,  if  you  want  us  to  go  with 
you,"  continued  Meekins. 

"I  should  be  delighted  to  have  a  man  of  your 
experience  and  ability  to  take  up  the  trail,  and 

139 


THE  WEST  WIND 

these   other  gentlemen   to   augment  my  small 
force." 

"Right  you  are  then,"  said  the  old  trapper. 
"Meanwhile,  I  better  take  a  look  at  these  dead 
bucks  here." 

He  dismounted  as  he  spoke,  stooped  to  the 
side  of  the  dead  Indians,  turned  them  over  and 
examined  them  carefully. 

"They're  Oglalas  all  right.  Probably  be- 
long to  some  sub-chief  of  Crazy  Horse's  band. 
Look,  Cap'n,  they  're  painted  for  war,  art'  well 
armed  too.  They  've  got  better  guns  than  you 
fellers  have.  If  I  was  you,  I  'd  take  their 
weepin's." 

"A  good  suggestion,"  said  the  Captain. 
"Schneider,  disarm  these  dead  bodies.  We  may 
need  their  guns." 

"An'  I  suppose,"  said  the  old  trapper,  "you 
wouldn't  mind  my  takin'  their  scalps." 

"I  certainly  should,"  said  Kennard,  decidedly; 
"we  are  not  savages." 

"Very  well,  then,  though  p'r'aps  you  may  feel 
different  after  you  've  had  as  much  experience 
with  'em  as  I  have,"  returned  the  trapper  non- 
chalantly, leaving  them  and  mounting  his  pony. 

140 


THE  TRAIL 

"Now  we  '11  ride  on.  I  take  it  that  it 's  more  'n 
likely  the  Half  Breed,  who  's  darin'  enough  to 
stop  at  nothing  will  have  tried  to  run  the  White 
Hoss  Rapids." 

"But  it  has  never  been  done  by  human  being." 

"Well,  that 's  no  reason  it  can't  be  did,  if  he  's 
got  nerve  an'  skill  enough  to  try  it,  which  he 
sure  has." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  assented  the  Captain. 

"If  he  tried  it,  he  either  got  through  or  he 
has  n't.  If  he  did  n't  git  through  we  '11  find  his 
body  an'  the  girl's — "  the  old  trapper  noticed 
how  white  the  Captain  turned  at  this  thought, 
and  drew  his  own  inferences ;  "they  '11  either  be 
floatin'  in  the  shallows  where  the  water  broad- 
ens out  below  the  rapids,  or  lyin'  on  the  shore 
somewheres.  If  they  did  git  through,  the 
ground  thereabouts  is  low  an'  soft  an'  we  'd 
ought  to  pick  up  the  trail  without  much  diffi- 
culty." 

"I  hope  to  God  that  if  they  tried  it  they  did 
get  through,"  said  Kennard. 

"Hold  on,  Cap'n,"  returned  the  old  scout 
earnestly;  "I  don't  know  as  I  kin  echo  that  there 
hope,  or  not.  There 's  wuss  things  than 

141 


THE  WEST  WIND 

'drowndin'  in  nice,  clean  water  like  the  White 
Hoss  Rapids,  and — " 

"Stop!"  cried  Kennard.  "You  think  I  don't 
know  it  as  well  as  you?  I  can't  bear  it!  Let 
us  go  ahead!" 

Meekins  nodded. 

"You  an'  me  better  ride  in  advance  an'  let 
your  men  come  on  a  little  in  the  rear,  so  's  I 
can  see  any  possible  Injin  sign  hereabouts. 
Them. dead  bucks  left  a  trail  a  baby  could  f oiler. 
They  done  it  a  purpose.  They  might  have  got 
away,  for  our  bosses  was  nowheres  near  as  fresh 
as  theirs,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  you,  comin'  up 
unexpected  like.  They  must  have  been  sur- 
prised when  they  seen  you." 

"They  had  little  time  for  surprise,"  answered 
the  soldier,  "before  we  got  them." 

Thereafter  with  Kennard  and  the  old  scout 
riding  ahead,  the  troops  moved  rapidly  on.  It 
was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  struck  the 
river  just  below  the  rapids.  The  old  man  had 
led  them  to  the  exact  spot. 

There,  sure  enough,  was  a  trail.  Meekins  ex- 
amined it  cursorily  from  the  back  of  his  horse, 
and  uttered  one  explosive  monosyllable. 

142 


THE  TRAIL 

"Hell!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Kennard,  who 
had  ridden  down  to  the  river's  edge  with  him, 
the  troopers  halting  a  little  space  behind. 

"Why,  Sullivan's  men  have  been  here  an' 
tromped  all  over  the  place." 

"Well,  can't  we  follow  them?" 

"Sure.  You  could  do  it  in  the  dark  with 
your  eyes  shet,  but  who 's  to  know  whether 
they  Ve  got  the  right  trail." 

"What's  to  be  done,  then?" 

"Well,  we  '11  see  where  they  went,"  replied 
the  scout,  crossing  the  stream  and  examining  the 
ground  on  the  other  side. 

"They  put  for  the  mountains  all  right,"  he 
said,  returning  in  a  little  space. 

"I  have  been  looking  through  the  shallows," 
said  Kennard,  "and  I  see  no  signs  of  any  bodies." 

"Oh,  they  got  through  all  right,  I  guess,  some 
way.  There  was  probably  some  kind  o'  sign 
here  when  Sullivan  an'  his  men  mussed  it  up." 

"Where  do  you  think  we  should  go?"  queried 
the  Captain ;  "we  are  wasting  time." 

Naturally  he  was  wild  with  excitement  and 
anxiety  to  get  on  the  trail  again. 

H3 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Lemme  think,"  said  Meekins;  "I  don't  guess 
It's  much  use  follerin'  the  trail  of  Sullivan's 
outfit.  God  only  knows  where  they  '11  bring  up. 
They're  a  splendid  set  of  cowboys,  but  there 
ain't  a  trailer  among  'em,  an'  any  man  tryin'  to 
ketch  the  Half  Breed  an'  whoever  he  had  with 
him — an'  I  jedge  he  's  picked  up  with  a  band 
of  Sioux — would  have  to  roller  after  him  out 
of  the  grass  country  an'  among  the  rocks,  where 
I  could  hardly  pick  up  the  trail  myself." 
"Are  you  going  to  give  it  up  then?" 
"Give  it  up!  Not  if  I  have  to  foller  the  girl 
into  the  heart  of  the  hull  Sioux  nation,  but  I  'm 
tryin'  to  argufy  out  in  my  mind  what 's  best  for 
us  to  do.  It 's  easy  to  see  that  they  Ve  struck 
for  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Now,  them 
mountains  is  a  tangle  of  wild  valleys,  an'  hills, 
rivers,  canons,  and  holes,  that  no  man  on  earth 
knows." 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Kennard;  "go  on." 
"I  guess  I  know  about  as  much  about  the 
country  as  any  white  man,  an'  most  Injins. 
There  's  some  thousands  of  places  where  they 
could  hide  an'  we  'd  never  stumble  on  'em. 
Agin,  there  's  other  places  they  'd  be  likely  to 

144 


THE  TRAIL 

go  to  that  we  could' hit  on.  It's  a  big  gamble, 
Cap'n.  We  're  takin'  big  chances,  but  I  Ve  jot 
an  idea.  I  give  it  to  you  for  what  it  is  worth. 
You  can  take  it  or  leave  it.  I'm  goin'  to  roller 
it  myself.  I  reckon  Johnson  and  the  other 
boys  '11  go  with  me." 

"What  is  it?    Where  are  you  going?" 

"Well,  I  figger  it  out  this  way.  The  Half 
Breed  won't  be  in  command  of  the  party,  but 
he  '11  have  powerful  influences  over  it.  One  of 
his  favorite  haunts  is  a  certain  shelf-like  cave 
in  a  tremendous  canon  that  I  know  of.  Access 
to  it  is  only  up  a  horrible  rough  an'  narrer  trail 
that  one  man  could  hold  forever  agin  a  regi- 
ment. I  Ve  hunted  with  him  an'  once  we  went 
there.  Must  have  been  ten  years  ago,  but  I 
know  the  place.  I  Ve  got  a  fine  memory  for 
sich  things,  an'  I  got  it  fixed  in  my  mind.  If 
it 's  left  to  me,  I  says  the  chances  are  he  '11  go 
there." 

"Is  it  a  cul-de-sac?" 

"A  what?"  exploded  the  trapper. 

"I  mean  is  there  any  exit  from  it;  any  way 
out  after  you  get  in,  except  by  the  way  you 
come?" 

HS 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Yes,  there  is.  It 's  more  easy  to  git  out  of  the 
place  than  to  git  in,  although  I  follered  the  trail 
out.  We  stopped  there  one  night,  I  remember. 
We  was  prospectin'  an'  we  seen  a  likely  lookin' 
outcropping  ledge  or  two  on  the  way  up  an'  we 
went  back  the  way  we  come  in,  so  I  don't  know 
exactly  what 's  beyond.  It  would  make  a  good 
restin'  place,  about  a  good  day's  journey  even 
for  an  Injun,  an'  in  fact  about  as  much  as  they 
could  stand,  though  they  did  push  their  hosses 
like  they  giner'ly  does.  It  'd  be  far  from  the 
ranch.  Pretty  safe  from  any  pursuit,  for  Girot 
don't  suspect  I  'm  within  five  hundred  miles  of 
this  territory,  an'  he  probably  thinks  no  one  else 
knows  about  it.  'Tain't  much  to  build  on,  but 
it 's  all  I  got.  We  got  to  go  somewheres,  an' 
that 's  the  most  likely  place  I  knows  of.  Now, 
what  do  you  think?" 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  returned  Kennard 
promptly. 

It  was  the  best  he  could  do.  Chance  of  find- 
ing the  fugitives  in  the  labyrinth  of  the  range 
was  small  at  best,  still,  the  old  man's  reasoning 
was  good.  Besides,  they  had  to  go  somewhere. 
Inaction  was  unendurable.  His  men  were 

146 


THE  TRAIL 

fresh  and  could  stand  a  night  march.  As  for 
himself,  he  could  have  gone  on  forever. 

"All  right,"  said  Meekins;  "we'll  take  the 
hull  troop  as  far  as  we  can,  an'  then  leave  half 
of  'em  at  the  mouth  of  the  canon  with  the 
hosses,  an'  make  a  dash  with  the  rest  of  'em  on 
foot." 

"How  long  is  the  trail  after  you  reach  the 
mouth  of  the  canon?" 

"Well,  three  or  four  hours,  I  reckon.  You 
can't  make  it  in  much  less  in  sich  a  place  as 
that  at  night.  It 's  about  the  wust  trail  I  know 
in  the  range." 

"Is  n't  it  practicable  for  horses?" 

"In  daylight,  yes,  an'  if  you  don't  care  how 
much  noise  you  make,  but  goin'  quiet  like  we 
got  to  go,  better  leave  'em  behind." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Captain. 

They  crossed  the  river,  and  when  they  did  so 
caught  sight  of  a  broken  birch  bark  canoe. 
Bud  Meekins,  after  inspecting  it,  opined  that 
the  canoe  had  probably  come  through  that  day. 
Then  desirous  of  making  as  much  time  as  pos- 
sible, and  of  getting  to  the  mouth  of  the  canon 
before  dark,  conscious  that  a  good  rest  for  the 

H7 


THE  WEST  WIND 

night  awaited  the  horses,  the  command  pro- 
ceeded at  a  gallop  until  they  struck  the  rough 
rocks  of  the  foothills.  Sullivan's  trail,  which 
was  plain  as  daylight,  they  found  branched  off 
suddenly  to  the  northward  after  progressing 
about  a  mile  from  the  river  bank. 

"He  's  seed  somethin'  or  thinks  he  has,"  said 
Meekins,  galloping  by  Kennard's  side. 

"And  you  don't  think  it  would  be  wise  to 
follow  him?" 

"Frankly,  I  don't,  Cap'n.  He 's  got  force 
enough  to  deal  with  'em  any  way  if  he  ketches 
'em  an'  it 's  more  'n  likely  he  's  gone  off  on  a 
fool's  errand.  It  stands  to  reason  that  them  In- 
jins,  or  whoever  they  be,  ain't  goin'  to  linger 
around  these  foothills  when  they've  got  a 
chance  to  lose  theirselves  in  the  range,  an'  that 
track  don't  lead  nowhere.  Leastwise,  nowhere 
that  I  knows  of.  You  might  git  to  that  little 
lake  on  Cloud  Peak  that  way." 

"That  is  my  rendezvous  with  Colonel  Wain- 
wright  to-morrow." 

"Well,  you  can  be  sure  them  bucks  did  n  't  go 
that  way.  Nope,  I  'm  still  of  the  opinion  that 
we  're  doin'  the  best  thing." 

148 


THE  TRAIL 

"I  am  trusting  to  you,  Meekins,"  said  the 
Captain  wistfully. 

"Well,"  returned  Meekins,  gravely,  "you  'd 
better  trust  in  somebody  higher 'n  me,  but  so 
fur  as  my  intelleck  goes,  it  is  workin'  in  the 
gal's  sarvice  an'  yourn.  I  take  it  'tain't  merely 
becus  she  's  a  woman  that  you  went  white  when 
I  mentioned  her  back  on  the  trail  yonder,"  he 
ran  on  with  the  garrulous  frankness  of  the  old 
frontiersman. 

"No,"  answered  the  Captain,  equally  unre- 
served. "That 's  enough  to  make  any  man  hunt 
her  abductors,  but  it  is  not  only  that.  I  was  go- 
ing over  to  her  father's  this  morning  to  ask  her 
to  be  my  wife." 

"And  what  sez  she  about  that?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  was  the  answer.  "Some- 
times I  think  I  never  shall  know  now." 

"Well,  Cap'n,"  returned  the  hunter,  with 
ready  sympathy,  "it 's  not  so  bad  as  if  she  was 
tuk  by  Injins  alone.  I  know  that  hound  of  a 
Half  Breed  mighty  well.  I  Ve  hunted  with 
him,  trapped  with  him  an'  prospected  with  him. 
He  's  got  some  kind  o'  chivalry,  some  kind  o' 
decent  instinks  in  his  hide;  I  reckon  it's  from 

149 


THE  WEST  WIND 

his  French  people  of  long  ago.  He  's  as  vain 
as  a  peacock,  too.  He  thinks  he  's  irresistible, 
a  reg'lar  lady  killer,  you  know,  an'  no  woman 
kin  help  fallin'  in  love  with  him.  He  might 
think  he  'd  win  the  gal  an'  not  force  her.  I  Ve 
got  an  idee  that  pVaps  that 's  it." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Kennard,  encouraged  some- 
what by  the  old  scout's  words.  "I  pray  to  God 
it  may  be  so.  It  will  make  me  kill  him  a  little 
more  mercifully  than  otherwise,  if  I  find  out 
that  is  true!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

IT  was  night  when  the  troop  finally  drew  rein 
and  halted  at  the  mouth  of  the  trail  which 
led  into  the  mouth  of  the  canon.     Before  giving 
the    order   to    dismount,    Kennard   briefly   ad- 
dressed his  soldiers. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "Meekins  thinks  it  is  pos- 
sible that  Miss  Benham  may  have  been  carried 
up  this  pass  to  a  certain  secret  camping  spot  fre- 
quented by  Girot,  of  which  he  has  knowledge. 
On  the  strength  of  his  guess  we  have  decided  to 
try  the  trail,  which  he  tells  me,  is  the  worst  in 
the  mountains,  in  the  somewhat  forlorn  hope  of 
finding  and  surprising  the  camp.  It  is  a  wild 
chance  but  I  do  not  know  where  else  to  go  or 
what  else  to  do.  The  trail  is  impossible  for 
horses  at  night.  We  will  have  to  attempt  it  on 
foot.  It  means  three  hours  or  more  of  steady 
plodding,  and  either  disappointment,  or  a  hard 
fight  at  the  end.  One  half  of  the  troop  will 


THE  WEST  WIND 

stay  here  with  the  horses.  Mr.  Hamilton,  you 
will  remain  in  command.  The  other  half  will 
go  with  Meekins  and  me.  Mr.  Bodley,  you 
will  accompany  us.  Now  I  want  all  those  who 
will  volunteer  to  go  to  move  forward." 

As  a  matter  of  course,  every  man  moved  for- 
ward. They  did  not  content  themselves  with 
that,  for  every  man  broke  into  appeals : 

"Take  me,  sir." 

"Don't  leave  me  behind,  sir." 

Even  Hamilton,  although  he  knew,  of  course, 
what  his  duty  was,  joined  in  the  clamor. 

Kennard's  face  flushed  with  pride. 

"I  knew  I  could  count  on  every  one  of  you 
men,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  shall  have  to  select 
you  by  lot.  No,  Hamilton,  you  are  the  senior 
officer  after  myself.  The  responsibility  of  the 
remainder  of  the  troop  must  be  yours." 

He  looked  at  the  men  crowding  closely  in  line 
about  him.  The  moonlight  gave  him  a  clear 
view  of  their  intent,  excited  faces. 

"I  do  not  know  how  to  make  a  choice  among 
you,"  he  said,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  in 
some  uncertainty.  "Break  ranks,"  he  added 
suddenly. 

152 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

The  men  broke  the  line  instantly,  but  they 
crowded  about  him  on  their  horses  more  closely 
than  before  in  their  eagerness. 

"Now,"  he  cried,  "fall  in  again  and  form  line. 
Any  way,  men;  never  mind  your  old  order." 

The  men  hastily  crowded  back  in  some  sort 
of  a  line  with  sufficient  variation  in  their  posi- 
tion not  to  have  duplicated  their  previous 
formation. 

"That 's  well,"  continued  the  young  Captain. 
"Attention!  Count  fours." 

The  sharp,  staccato  notes  of  the  men  as  they 
called  off  the  numbers  in  quick  succession  rang 
through  the  still  night. 

"The  odd  numbers  will  fall  back  one  step," 
continued  Kennard,  when  silence  again  super- 
vened; "the  even  numbers  will  step  forward  one 
pace." 

In  a  trice,  as  the  command  was  obeyed,  the 
little  troop  found  itself  divided  into  two 
platoons. 

"Now,"  said  Kennard,  "I  will  spin  a  coin. 
If  it's  heads,  the  odd  numbers  go;  if  it's  tails, 
the  even  numbers  go." 

While  the  men  waited  in  great  excitement 
'53 


THE  WEST  WIND 

for  the  result  of  this  frontier  casting  of  lots, 
Kennard  flipped  the  half  dollar  high  in  the  air 
and  caught  it  in  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Hamilton,"  he  said,  extending  it,  with- 
out looking  at  it  himself,  "what  is  it?" 

"Heads,"  said  Mr.  Hamilton;  "the  odd  num- 
bers win." 

"The  odd  numbers  go,  then,"  declared  Ken- 
nard, but  his  voice  was  drowned  by  the  cheers 
of  those  who  were  selected  to  go  and  by  groans 
from  those  who  were  to  be  left  behind. 

"Make  camp,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  Kennard, 
as  the  tumult  subsided ;  "choose  a  good  position 
hereabouts,  and  one  capable  of  defense.  We 
don't  know  what  other  bands  of  Indians  may  be 
adrift  in  the  foothills,  and  one  detachment  of 
the  1 2th  Cavalry  has  already  been  cut  to  pieces. 
Keep  good  watch.  If  you  don't  hear  from  us 
by  say,  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  make  the 
best  of  your  way  to  Lake  Tear-in-the-Clouds  on 
the  slope  of  Cloud  Peak.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  know  how  to  get  there?" 

"Well;  not  exactly,  sir." 

"If  you  foller  our  trail  back  to  where  Sulli- 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

van  an'  his  crowd  evidently  branched  off  to  the 
north'ard,"  said  Meekins,  "an'  keep  the  range 
well  on  your  left,  keepin'  out  from  the  foothills, 
you  'd  ought  to  strike  that  lake  without  much 
trouble.  It 's  the  only  sheet  of  water  here- 
abouts, an'  should  lie  fifteen  miles  or  so  to  the 
north." 

"Think  you  can  find  it  now,  Hamilton?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Now  dismount  the  men.  I  will 
take  Schneider  with  me  and  you  can  retain  the 
other  sergeants.  The  scouting  party  will  turn 
their  horses  over  to  those  who  remain  here. 
There  will  be  a  wait  of  ten  minutes  to  get  some- 
thing to  eat  and  to  get  ready.  Every  man  will 
take  his  revolver,  rifle  and  cartridge  belt  full  of 
ammunition,  leaving  blanket  rolls,  and  every- 
thing else  behind.  Don't  kindle  any  fires. 
Lights  can  be  seen  a  long  distance.  Get  your 
bread  and  meat  out  of  your  haversacks." 

The  ten  minutes  which  had  been  put  to  good 
advantage  by  every  man  was  soon  over.  Under 
the  advice  of  the  frontiersman  the  party  was 
arranged  as  follows:  Meekins,  and  Kennard 
in  the  lead.  After  that,  old  Johnson  and  one 

155 


THE  WEST  WIND 

cowboy;  then  the  troopers  and  the  other  two 
cowboys ;  with  Schneider  and  Bodley,  last  of  all 
bringing  up  the  rear.  The  men  were  enjoined 
to  make  no  noise,  to  hug  the  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  keep  close  together,  taking  every  pre- 
caution possible  to  make  no  misstep  which 
would  throw  them  to  certain  death  in  the  canon. 

In  this  order  the  little  band  plodded  up  the 
trail.  It  was  weary  work,  after  the  long  chase 
of  the  day  just  ended.  But  led  by  the  inde- 
fatigable and  tireless  old  trapper,  and  by  the 
ardent  and  anxious  young  officer,  they  kept 
steadily  at  it  for  perhaps  two  hours  and  a  half, 
the  trail  growing  narrower  and  more  difficult 
all  the  time  as  they  approached  its  end.  There 
had  been  no  halts,  but  now  as  the  men  in  the 
rear  came  crowding  up,  they  found  the  head  of 
the  line  had  stopped. 

"As  I  recalls  it,"  whispered  the  trapper  to 
the  Captain,  "the  narrerest  part  of  the  trail 
should  be  yonder  an'  it  swerves  around  a  kind 
of  a  pint.  When  we  pass  that,  we  're  on  a 
broad  shelf  of  the  mountain  with  room  enough 
for  a  regiment.  The  watch'll  be  right  there. 
This  crowd  could  n't  possibly  approach  him 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

without  bein'  seed  over  an'  over  agin.  I  pro- 
pose that  you  fellers  halts  here  an'  lemme  creep 
up  on  the  lookout.  Mebbe  I  kin  git  him,  an'  if 
I  do,  the  rest  will  be  easy.  If  I  can't  surprise 
him,  I'll  have  to  shoot  him.  There  ain't  no 
other  way,  an'  then  you  all  come  on  the  jump. 
You  'd  better  move  forrard  to  the  precipice  af- 
ter I'm  gone.  That  '11  be  in  easy  reaching  dis- 
tance. An'  for  God 's  sake,  don't  make  no 
sound,  whatsomever." 

"Let  me  go  with  you,"  whispered  Kennard 
eagerly. 

"No,"  replied  the  frontiersman,  promptly 
and  positively,  "two  of  us  could  n't  possibly 
creep  up  on  him ;  one  of  us  might  by  keepin'  in 
the  shadder.  I  kin  wait  until  he  turns  his  back 
or  p'r'aps  nods,  but  two  of  us  never  could. 
Don't  you  be  'fraid;  you'll  have  plenty  to  do  in 
a  moment." 

"Very  well,  then,"  acquiesced  Kennard,  ap- 
preciating the  full  force  of  the  other's  cogent 
reasoning. 

He  shook  him  vigorously  by  the  hand  as  he 
spoke. 

"Good-by.     I  hope  for  good  luck,  for  your 


THE  WEST  WIND 

sake  an'  for  the  gal's,"  said  the  old  trapper,  steal- 
ing forward  on  the  trail. 

Kennard  hastily  explained  the  situation  to  the 
men,  and  the  whole  party  moved  cautiously 
forward  to  the  place  indicated  by  the  trapper, 
and  then  awaited  with  beating  hearts,  every  man 
keyed  up  to  the  highest  pitch,  every  rifle  ready 
for  instant  service.  The  shelf  there  was  nar- 
row, the  walls  receding  backward  a  little.  The 
men  stood  in  line  leaning  against  it,  breathless 
with  anxiety  and  anticipation. 

As  for  Kennard,  he  felt  that  never  in  his  life 
had  he  experienced  such  ghastly  suspense  as 
during  that  long  wait.  What  could  be  keeping 
the  trapper!  They  strained  their  heads  to  hear 
above  the  wind  in  the  pine  trees  overhead  and 
its  long  sigh  down  the  canon,  the  sound  of  a 
shriek  or  fall,  a  rifle  shot,  but  nothing  came. 
Finally,  after  a  wait  that  seemed  well  nigh  in- 
terminable, the  form  of  the  trapper  appeared  in 
the  moonlight. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Kennard,  in  a  low,  tense 
whisper. 

The  trapper  lifted  his  hand. 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

"There 's  somethin'  strange  about  the  situa- 
tion," he  whispered  in  return.  "There  was  an 
Injin  lying  at  the  promontory.  I  crep'  up  to 
him  thinkin'  he  was  asleep  an'  stabbed  him,  but 
he  was  dead,  stone  dead,  sir,  already!  He'd 
been  stabbed  afore!  Then  I  crawled  to  the 
promontory  an'  looked  around.  The  place  is 
dark,  but  I  could  hear  breathin'.  They're 
there  all  right.  There 's  jest  a  twinkle  of 
glowin'  ashes  that  showed  me  there  'd  bin  a  fire. 
But  how  come  that  Injin  dead,  an'  who  killed 
him,  I  don't  know." 

"We  '11  soon  find  out,"  answered  Kennard 
promptly,  his  heart  leaping  at  the  chance  for 
action  at  last.  "Now  we  will  go  on." 

"All  right,"  assented  the  trapper,  "jest  as  soon 
as  you  pass  the  promontory  the  shelf  widens  out. 
You  'd  better  tell  your  men  to  extend  to  the  right 
until  they  reach  the  cliff  wall  as  they  come 
around,  an'  then  advance  forrard.  The  place  is 
in  deep  shadder,  but  they  kin  go  on  in  the  gen- 
eral direction  of  the  canon,  which  they  can  see 
by  the  wanin'  moon  an'  stars.  Then  there  '11 
be  no  danger  of  the  fellers  that  comes  last  firm' 


THE  WEST  WIND 

into  the  fellers  goin'  first.  An*  caution  'em,  for 
God's  sake,  Cap'n  Kennard,  not  to  hit  no  female 
women  either.  You  understand?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Kennard,  passing  the  orders 
back  in  whispers  to  his  men. 

"Now  we  are  all  ready,"  said  Meekins. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Captain  decisively,  "and  this 
time  I  will  go  ahead." 

He  was  a  seasoned  and  experienced  soldier  in 
spite  of  his  youth  and  had  been  in  many  cam- 
paigns and  participated  in  many  fights,  but 
never  had  his  heart  beat  as  on  this  night  when, 
pistol  in  hand,  he  stepped  out  on  the  trail  and 
swiftly  made  for  the  promontory. 

Now  as  luck  would  have  it,  between  the  in- 
spection of  the  sleeping  camp  by  the  old  trap- 
per and  his  return  to  the  troopers,  the  Half 
Breed  had  awakened.  Feeling  chilly,  he  un- 
covered the  embers,  piled  some  dry  wood  on  the 
fire  and  rekindled  a  feeble  blaze.  Then  he  had 
risen  to  his  feet,  and  following  the  shadow  of 
the  rock,  he  had  stepped  back  to  assure  himself 
that  his  prisoner  was  still  safe  where  she  had 
been  left.  To  that  action  he  owed  his  life. 

His  movement  and  the  kindling  of  the  fire 
160 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

had  awakened  some  of  the  Indians.  When 
Kennard  rounded  the  promontory  they  were 
sitting  up,  one  or  two  had  already  got  to  their 
feet.  He  could  see  them  all  vaguely  in  the 
flickering  light.  He  stared  at  them  a  moment, 
seeking  the  figure  of  a  woman  and  finding  none. 
Then  his  eyes  sought  for  the  Half  Breed,  and 
missed  him  also.  Inspection  moments  were  in- 
stantly over,  for  the  men,  rifle  in  hand,  came 
crowding  around  the  promontory  after  him. 

Old  Yellow  Foot  quickest  awoke  to  the  situa- 
tion. Firing  from  the  hip  with  accuracy,  his 
ball  struck  the  man  who  at  the  moment  of  the 
discharge  was  turning  the  point.  Whether  he 
was  mortally  wounded  or  not,  could  never  be 
told,  however,  for  with  a  wild  shriek  he  plunged 
over  into  the  abyss  and  to  certain  death  below. 

Simultaneously  with  Yellow  Foot's  shot,  Ken- 
nard opened  fire  with  his  heavy  Colt,  singling 
out  the  Chief  for  the  first  fatal  bullet,  and  in  the 
next  instant  the  plateau  was  filled  with  flashes 
of  light  and  the  canon  with  roaring  sound. 
The  Indians  were  caught  at  a  terrible  disadvan- 
tage. They  were  surprised  in  the  first  place; 
they  were  in  the  illumination  of  whatever  light 

161 


THE  WEST  WIND 

there  was,  in  the  second.  After  a  wild  and  scat- 
tering volley,  they  broke  and  fled.  They  were 
pursued  by  the  excited  troopers,  and  many  of 
them  were  killed  in  the  mad  race  up  the  broad 
trail  through  the  black  night,  but  several  of 
them  made  good  their  escape,  among  them  the 
Half  Breed. 

Foremost  in  the  rapid  forward  rush  of  the 
men  after  them  had  been  the  Captain  and  the 
trapper.  They  had  had  a  good  view  of 
the  figures  disappearing  in  the  darkness  and 
they  were  certain  that  no  woman  had  been 
among  them. 

The  bugler  of  the  troop  had  been  brought 
with  the  party,  and  seeing  the  folly  of  further 
pursuit  in  the  darkness,  at  the  suggestion  of  old 
Meekins,  Kennard  had  the  recall  sounded. 

The  men  tame  back  in  twos  and  threes,  and 
meanwhile  Kennard  made  the  place  resound 
with  appeals. 

"She  may  be  hidin'  in  some  crevice  of  the 
rocks/'  the  trapper  had  said. 

"Miss  Benham!  Amy!  Where  are  you?" 
cried  Kennard,  listening  in  vain  for  an  answer. 

"Lights!"  he  commanded  at  last. 
162 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

"There 's  some  wood  left  here,"  said  the 
hunter,  who  had  been  peering  about  on  his  own 
account. 

As  he  spoke,  he  threw  an  armful  on  the  fire, 
which  as  the  wood  was  dry,  was  soon  blazing 
and  crackling  brilliantly.  It  gave  them  suffi- 
cient light  to  explore  the  whole  shelf  of  the 
mountain  and  the  recesses  back  of  it.  The  trap- 
per and  Kennard  conducted  the  search.  They 
found  nothing  until  they  came  to  the  spot  where 
Amy  and  Mah-wissa  had  rested. 

"There  's  somethin'  here,"  said  Meekins,  get- 
ting down  on  his  knees  to  examine  it. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Kennard,  stooping  ov^r  it 

"It's  a  pair  o'  shoes,  a  white  woman's  slip- 
pers." 

He  held  them  up.  Kennard  snatched  them 
eagerly. 

"Do  you  know  who  they  belong  to?"  asked 
the  scout. 

"Miss  Benham's,  to  a  moral  certainty,"  was 
the  answer.  "I  could  swear  to  them." 

"No  Injin  squaw  ever  wore  them,"  said  the 
trapper,  examining  one  of  the  dainty  little  shoes. 
"They're  almost  new,  too.  No  one  has  ever 


THE  WEST  WIND 

walked  much  in  'em,  certainly  not  in  this  rough 
country." 

"They  are  hers,"  said  Kennard.  "My  God! 
where  can  she  be,  and  where  is  that  damned 
Half  Breed?" 

At  this  juncture  Sergeant  Schneider  came  up 
to  them. 

"Sir,  to  the  Captain,"  he  said,  saluting. 

"What  is  it,  Sergeant?" 

"I  seed  the  Half  Breed  running  up  the  trail, 
sir." 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"Alone,  sir,  and  I  fired  at  him." 

"Did  you  get  him?" 

"I  think  not,  sir." 

"Did  any  of  you  see  a  woman,  Miss  Benham, 
men?"  cried  Kennard,  turning  to  the  troopers 
crowding  between  him  and  the  fire. 

"No,  sir,  we  did  n't  see  her." 

"Have  you  examined  the  dead  bodies?" 

"Every  one  of  them,"  was  the  answer. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Sergeant,  "they  are  all  bucks 
and  in  war  paint,  sir." 

"What  has  become  of  her?  She  must  have 
been  brought  here!" 

164 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

"Wait!"  said  the  old  trapper,  "that  dead  Injin 
at  the  promontory.  Could  she  have  killed  him 
an'  gone  back  on  the  trail?" 

"Impossible  I" 

"I  guess  you  're  right,  for,  as  I  remembers  it, 
there  's  no  way  of  gittin'  off  it  except  the  way  we 
come,  an'  if  she  'd  gone  that  away  we  'd  a  met 
up  with  her  or  seen  her  sure." 

Meekins  was  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  a  land- 
slide sometime  since  had  made  that  practicable 
descending  place  which  Amy  and  Mah-wissa 
had  used  the  night  before,  or  his  cunning  intui- 
tion might  have  set  him  on  the  right  trail  of  the 
poor  fugitives. 

"Some  one  must  have  killed  that  man  an' 
started  back  on  that  trail,"  he  mused.  "If  she 
did  it  she  must  have  realized  that  there  was  no 
escape  from  it.  She  must  have  come  back  here 
an'  passing  the  sleepin'  camp  fled  to  the  uplands. 
We'll  find  her  there.  That  will  be  our  best 
chance." 

"But  the  shoes?" 

"She  took  'em  off  an'  went  in  her  stockin'  feet 
to  make  no  noise,  an'  left  'em  here  while  she 
stole  away  from  the  ledge." 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"That  must  be  it,"  assented  Kennard  for- 
lornly. 

He  had  a  fierce  pang  at  the  thought  of  this 
delicate  woman  barefooted  in  the  rocky  passes 
of  the  mountains.  He  could  see  her  feet 
bruised,  cut,  bleeding — 

"Yep,"  said  the  scout,  "that  must  be  the  way 
of  it,  onless— 

He  stopped  and  looked  hard  at  Kennard. 

"Unless,  what?" 

"I  hate  to  say  it,"  he  said,  "but  there's  another 
possibility  that  comes  to  my  mind.  She  may 
have  gone  back  there  thinkin'  to  escape  down 
the  trail  by  which  she  come.  She  might  have 
met  that  Injin  so  suddenly  that  he  could  n't  give 
no  alarm,  an'  then  she  may  have  fallen  over  the 
cliff,  or—" 

"What  else?" 

"It  is  quite  possible  her  bein'  the  gal  we  both 
knows  she  is,  she  might  have  throw'd  herself 
over  when  they  got  here." 

"Don't  say  that,"  groaned  Kennard. 

"Would  n't  you  rather  have  her  over  there 
than—" 

1 66 


A  PAIR  OF  LITTLE  SHOES 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  soldier,  "but  I  can  not 
bear  it.  How  shall  we  find  out?" 

"We  can't  do  nothin'  abut  it  but  wait  'til 
mornin'.  Either  she  's  over  the  cliffs  or  escaped 
to  the  uplands  in  some  way,  an' — " 

At  that  moment  distant  shots  rang  out,  far 
away  on  those  uplands,  beyond  and  over  their 
heads. 


167 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

"TV/f  R-  BODLEY,"  said  Captain  Kennard, 

•1^-1-  as  the  rattle  of  shots  continued  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  died  away,  "take  a 
dozen  men  and  find  out  what  is  happening  up 
on  the  bluffs.  You  had  better  mount  some  of  the 
captured  ponies.  Schneider,  go  along  with 
them.  You,  too,  Meekins,  if  you  will.  Don't 
get  into  any  trap  or  ambuscade,  and  report  back 
here  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  returned  Bodley,  saluting. 

He  selected  his  party  at  once,  and  in  a  few 
moments,  mounted  on  the  captured  Indian 
ponies,  of  which  there  were  a  great  number,  and 
led  by  the  old  trapper,  they  trotted  rapidly  up 
the  trail  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"Men,"  said  Kennard,  turning  to  the  rest  of 
the  troopers,  "examine  these  Indians  and  their 
traps  and  see  if  you  can  find  some  rope.  John- 
son," speaking  to  the  cowboy,  "will  you  and 

168 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

your  men  also  lend  a  hand.  I  want  to  see  if 
I  cannot  find  rope  enough  to  go  down  the  cliffs 
as  soon  as  it  gets  light.  Let  me  know,"  he  cried, 
as  the  men  disappeared,  "if  any  of  the  Indians 
are  alive." 

"I  Ve  already  seen  to  that,  Cap'n,"  said  John- 
son meaningly. 

"Oh,  you  have!" 

"Yep,"  answered  Johnson,  "they  are  all  dead 
— now,"  he  muttered. 

Kennard  turned  away  in  disgust  at  the  infer- 
ence, and  yet  there  was  a  certain  relief,  for  a 
wounded  Indian  would  greatly  hamper  their 
movements. 

"Are  any  of  the  men  hurt?"  he  called  out. 

"Neal  went  over  the  cliffs,  sir,"  answered  one 
man. 

"I  got  a  scratch  along  my  cheek,"  said  an- 
other. 

"The  rest  of  us  are  all  right,"  answered  the 
third,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"Let  me  see  your  cheek,  Watson,"  continued 
Kennard,  stepping  toward  the  fire. 

He  examined  it  carefully  and  was  greatly 
relieved  to  find  it  was  nothing  but  a  graze,  a 

169 


THE  WEST  WIND 

random  bullet  having  just  touched  the  trooper. 

"Wash  it  off  at  the  spring,  and  I  think  you 
will  be  all  right." 

"Lord  love  you,  Cap'n,"  returned  Watson, 
"it 's  nothing  at  all." 

"We  Ve  got  plenty  of  rope  here,  Captain," 
said  Corporal  Murphy,  the  ranking  non-com- 
missioned officer  present,  "and  if  you  want  to 
go  over  the  cliff,  sir,  I  can  rig  you  up  a  line.  I 
was  in  the  Navy  once." 

"Then  get  to  work  at  it" 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

Kennard  stepped  to  the  edge  and  looked  down 
into  the  canon.  It  was  still  dark,  but  he  knew 
in  a  short  time  it  would  be  light.  He  prayed 
for  daylight  and  yet  he  was  fearful  as  to  what 
he  might  see  when  it  would  come. 

As  he  stood  staring  and  waiting,  there  was 
a  sudden  commotion  at  the  head  of  the  trail. 
The  men  on  the  shelf  grasped  their  arms,  but 
there  was  light  enough  after  a  few  seconds  to 
discover  that  it  was  Bodley's  party  returning. 
It  seemed,  however,  twice  or  three  times  as  big 
as  when  he  went  out,  and  as  the  ponies  came 
trotting  down  the  slope,  Kennard  saw  riding  by 

170 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

the  side  of  Bodley  the  gigantic  form  of  Sulli- 
van. He  sprang  forward  to  meet  them. 

"Sullivan,  for  God's  sake!  Miss  Benham? 
Have  you  got  her?" 

"No,"  answered  the  cattleman,  his  disap- 
pointment as  apparent  as  Kennard's  at  the  an- 
nouncement. 

"That  firing  I  heard?" 

"We  were  in  camp  yonder  when  a  bunch  of 
Indians  came  running  out  of  the  darkness  and 
almost  fell  over  us.  The  man  on  watch  fired 
and  then  we  all  jumped  to  our  feet  and  blazed 
away  in  the  darkness." 

"Did  you  get  any  of  them?" 

"We  got  two  of  them,  bucks,  Sioux." 

"Did  you  see  any  woman?" 

"Not  one  of  us.  I  saw  the  Half  Breed  and 
fired  at  him." 

"Did  you  hit  him?" 

"Missed  him,  damn  the  luck." 

"Then  you  are  sure  she  was  not  with  them." 

"I  am  sure  of  nothing  except  that  the  Half 
Breed  was  alone,  and  none  of  us  saw  her.  We 
were  all  on  the  lookout  when  Mr.  Bodley  came 
up  with  the  soldiers.  We  mighty  near  fired 

171 


THE  WEST  WIND 

into  him;  sure  would,  had  it  not  been  for 
Meekins,  who  recognized  us  somehow  or 
other." 

"I  can  see  in  the  dark,"  said  Meekins,  chuck- 
ling as  he  spoke,  "as  well  as  most  people  can  see 
in  the  light" 

"I  believe  it,"  said  Sullivan.  "And  when  we 
did  recognize  the  troopers  we  thought  surely 
you  had  got  Miss  Benham." 

"She  has  been  here,"  said  Kennard. 

"So,  Mr.  Bodley  said,  but  where  is  she  now?" 

"God  only  knows!     Perhaps  over  there." 

He  pointed  down  the  cliff  into  the  depths  be- 
low. 

"That's  to  be  found  out  then,"  returned 
the  cattleman,  promptly;  "I '11  go  down  and 
see." 

"Excuse  me,"  answered  the  soldier,  "that  is 
my  task.  I  have  already  got  ropes  ready." 

He  peered  intently  down  into  the  gulf.  He 
could  see  dark  spots  indicating  perhaps  bodies 
lying  among  the  shadows  of  the  rocks  below. 
At  least  so  he  thought.  Might  she  be  one  of 
them? 

"I  am  going  down  now.  It  is  light  enough. 
172 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

Your  men  are  accustomed  to  handle  ropes ;  will 
you  take  charge  up  here,  Sullivan?" 

"Sure,"  was  the  answer. 

Murphy  had  rigged  up  a  sort  of  a  rude 
boVn's  chair  out  of  the  largest  piece  of  wood 
he  could  find.  They  rolled  up  some  of  the 
Indian  blankets  on  the  edge  of  the  canon  to  pre- 
vent the  sharp  rocks  from  cutting  the  strands, 
and  under  the  leadership  and  direction  of  Sulli- 
van, the  rope  in  which  the  Captain  was  sus- 
pended was  carefully  payed  out  until  its  slack- 
ness indicated  that  he  had  reached  the  bottom. 

To  disentangle  himself  from  the  chair  was  the 
work  of  a  moment.  It  was  difficult  moving  in 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  canon,  but  with  re- 
markable celerity  considering  all  things,  Ken- 
nard  made  his  way  from  one  body  to  another. 
There  were  five  or  six  Indians,  dead  and 
frightfully  crushed;  the  trooper  who  had  been 
shot  as  he  rounded  the  point,  in  like  state,  but 
nothing  else.  He  wandered  up  and  down  the 
canon  for  some  distance.  He  satisfied  himself 
that  the  stream  was  so  far  from  the  edge  that 
no  one  could  have  jumped  into  it  and  been  swept 
away. 

173 


THE  WEST  WIND 

With  relief  unspeakable,  yet  with  a  growing 
sense  of  desperate  mystification,  he  decided  that 
the  body  of  the  woman  he  loved  was  not  there. 
If  she  had  leaped  from  the  canon  it  must  have 
been  below  or  above  the  place  of  the  camp.  He 
fastened  the  body  of  the  trooper  on  the  rope,  and 
after  it  was  lifted  up  to  the  shelf,  he  himself 
mounted  to  his  command. 

"She  is  not  there,"  he  said.  "There  is  no  sign 
of  her  having  fallen  there.  There  were  only 
six  Indians  and  Trooper  Neal." 

"What's  to  be  done  now?"  asked  Sullivan. 

"I  do  not  know,"  was  the  answer.  "I  am 
under  orders.  I  have  to  meet  Colonel  Wain- 
wright  and  the  rest  of  the  command  at  Tear 
Lake  hear  Cloud  Peak  this  morning." 

"What 's  become  of  the  girl?"  asked  the  cattle- 
man. "Good  God,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it!" 

Kennard  could  give  no  answer. 

"Gents,"  said  the  old  trapper,  "she  either 
went  back  on  that  trail  or  went  forrard.  If  she 
went  forrard,  she  was  took  by  some  one,  and  is 
probably  now  on  her  way  to  the  Indian  camp, 
wherever  it  be.  If  she  went  back,  I  think  we  'd 
have  seen  her.  She  may  have  fell  off  the  cliffs, 

174 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

an'  I  'm  goin'  back  as  soon  as  it 's  light  to  examine 
the  trail.  You  are  apt  to  stay  at  the  lake  for  a 
part  of  the  day,  ain't  you?" 

"I  think  very  likely  we  shall  be  there  until 
late  in  the  afternoon,"  returned  Kennard. 

"Very  well,  I  '11  take  a  spare  pony  and  I  'II 
meet  you  there,  or  if  not  there,  I  '11  overtake 
you." 

"That  is  well  thought  of,"  said  the  Captain. 
"Meanwhile,"  he  turned  to  the  cowboys,  "you 
know  the  Indians  are  out.  I  presume  the  whole 
Sioux  Nation,  Brules,  Minneconjous,  Uncpapas, 
Dog  Soldiers  and  all,  will  join  the  Oglalas  and 
the  Cheyennes.  Crazy  Horse  and  Roman  Nose 
are  known  to  be  in  the  lead.  We  have  serious 
work  ahead  of  us.  We  shall  need  every  man 
we  can  get.  Do  any  of  you  wish  to  go  with 
us?" 

"They'll  all  wish  to  go,"  said  Sullivan,  as  a 
clamor  of  assent  arose  from  the  cowboys,  "but 
they  are  in  no  condition  now.  This  thing  ain't 
going  to  be  ended  in  a  day.  I  suggest  that  they 
go  back  to  the  ranch,  arrange  with  Mitchell, 
who  '11  be  in  charge  in  my  absence,  to  bury  the 
old  Colonel,  and  keep  just  enough  men  to  stay 


THE  WEST  WIND 

there  to  keep  things  running.  Then  the  rest  will 
outfit  themselves  for  a  campaign  and  join  the 
troops  wherever  they  may  be.  Johnson,  you 
take  them  back." 

"Ain't  you  goin',  Sullivan?"  asked  Johnson. 

"No;  I  am  going  on  with  Captain  Kennard 
here." 

"I  know  the  Government  will  be  glad  of  your 
services,"  said  Kennard  to  the  cowboys.  "In 
fact,  I  heard  Colonel  Wainwright  talking  last 
night  of  orders  he  had  received,  in  case  of  an 
outbreak,  to  enlist  a  company  of  civilian  scouts. 
I  should  like  to  have  you  associated  with  me 
in  case  you  decide  to  join." 

"We  would  like  to  serve  with  you  first  rate," 
said  Sullivan;  "we  know  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Captain,  "and  as  for 
you,  Sullivan,  I  am  glad  to  have  you  with  me 
now." 

"Better  get  yourselves  ready,  boys,"  said  Sul- 
livan, shaking  the  Captain's  hand.  "The 
sooner  you  hit  the  trail,  the  sooner  you  will 
catch  up  with  us.  I  guess  you  can  outfit  me, 
Captain?" 

"Certainly." 

176 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

"Well,  then,  Johnson,  you  take  the  command 
of  the  party,  and  good-by." 

He  stepped  forward  as  he  spoke  and  shook 
hands  with  his  faithful  men. 

"I  hope  to  God  you  find  the  girl,  Sullivan," 
said  Johnson,  who  was  the  last  one  to  approach. 
"Come  on,  men/'  he  said,  preparing  to  move 
off. 

"You  'd  better  not  take  the  trail  back,  but  go 
home  over  the  uplands,  Johnson.  We  got  di- 
verted by  a  false  sign,  or  else  we  would  have 
been  climbing  up  this  trail  the  same  as  you," 
said  Sullivan  to  the  Captain. 

"It  is  lucky  in  the  end,"  answered  Kennard, 
"for  between  us  we  got  most  of  them.  It  will 
teach  Crazy  Horse  a  lesson." 

"He  '11  have  to  get  a  harder  lesson  than  that," 
said  Meekins.  "I  'm  for  down  the  trail,"  he 
added  as  he  turned  away. 

As  he  did  so  a  peal  of  thunder  followed  by  a 
fiash  of  lightning  rolled  across  the  canon  and 
heavy  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall  in  the  gray 
dawn. 

Meekins  paused  by  the  promontory. 

"This  '11  wash  out  any  sign  that 's  left,"  he 
177 


THE  WEST  WIND 
said    disconsolately.     "It    makes    it    harder  'n 


ever." 


"Shall  you  go  back?"  asked  Kennard. 

"Yes,  on  the  chance  that  she  might  be" — he 
paused — "dead  in  the  canon." 

The  Captain  almost  prayed  that  the  scout's 
supposition  was  true.  The  old  man  shook 
hands  and  said  good-by.  With  the  same 
homely  words  of  the  cowboy  a  moment  since  he 
prayed  that  everything  might  be  all  right  with 
the  girl  ere  he  turned  and  moved  toward  the 
fateful  promontory  in  the  now  heavy  and  per- 
sistent downfall  of  rain. 

"We  might  as  well  get  the  men  ready  to  move 
out,  Mr.  Bodley,"  said  Kennard,  after  watching 
the  scout  until  he  was  lost  to  view  behind  the 
jutting  rocks.  "I  guess  we  Ve  captured  enough 
ponies  to  mount  us  all.  Let  me  know  when 
everything  is  in  shape  to  start." 

He  turned  away  and  walked  back  toward  the 
recess  where  the  shoes  had  been  found.  Sulli- 
van found  him  there. 

"God !  Captain,"  he  cried,  "do  you  think  we  '11 
find  her?" 

"I  don't  know." 

178 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

"And  if  we  do — what  then?" 

"Sullivan,"  asked  Kennard  suddenly,  now 
that  they  were  withdrawn  from  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  others,  and  were  somewhat  shel- 
tered from  the  downpour  by  the  overhanging 
rocks,  "what  is  she  to  you?" 

"Why,  I  have  known  her  ever  since  she  was 
a  child,"  answered  the  other,  astonished  and  dis- 
concerted by  the  suddenness  of  the  Captain's 
question. 

"Is  that  all?"  persisted  the  soldier. 

"No,  by  God!"  burst  out  the  cattleman,  "I 
love  her.  I  wanted  to  make  her  my  wife." 

"Did  she  accept  you?  Forgive  the  direct- 
ness of  the  question.  But  I,  too,  love  her,  and 
I  wanted  her  to  be  my  wife." 

"You!"  exclaimed  the  cattleman,  aghast. 

"Yes." 

"Did  she  ever  promise  you?"  asked  Sullivan 
in  his  turn. 

"I  never  said  a  word  to  her  about  it.  Did 
you?" 

"No." 

The  two  men  stared  at  each  other  in  silence 
for  a  little  space. 

179 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"You  are  a  man,  all  right,  Captain/'  said  the 
ranchman  at  last.  "If  she  chooses  you  there 
won't  be  any  kick  coming  from  me." 

"And  I  can  say  the  same,  Sullivan." 

Two  hands  extended  and  two  hands  met. 

"Meanwhile,"  continued  the  cattleman,  "we 
have  got  to  find  her." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Captain,  "but  you  are  free; 
you  can  search  for  her  as  you  like.  I  am  a 
soldier.  I  have  to  do  my  duty  and  obey  orders 
and  go  where  I  am  sent." 

"I  hope  to  God,  Captain,  that  you  are  sent 
after  her!" 

"So  do  I!" 

"The  platoon  is  ready  to  start,  sir,"  said  Bod- 
ley,  coming  up  and  saluting. 

"Very  good.     Come,  Sullivan." 

Followed  by  the  big  ranchman,  Kennard  rode 
to  the  head. 

"Forward!  March!"  he  said  grimly,  putting 
his  horse  to  the  trail. 

The  hardest  thing  for  humanity  to  sustain 
is  the  crushing  sense  of  impotence,  the  con- 
sciousness of  helplessness  when  the  fate  of  one 
beloved  is  in  the  balance.  There  was  hardly  a 

1 80 


THE  AVENGERS  OF  BLOOD 

chance  in  the  world  that  they  could  save  Amy 
Benham.  They  knew  her  well  enough  to  be 
sure  that  she  would  probably  die  by  her  own 
hand  before  they  could  reach  her  and  that  death 
would  be  welcome  to  her.  They  had  one  duty, 
however.  If  they  could  not  find  her,  they  could 
find  him,  and  with  black,  desperate  anxiety  in 
their  hearts,  the  two  avengers  of  blood  rode  on. 


181 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PITCHED   BATTLE  IN  THE  HILLS 

TTV3R  two  days  the  regiment,  with  the  excep- 
J-  tion  of  the  melancholy  troop  left  behind  at 
Fort  McCullough,  had  been  rapidly  marching 
northward  from  that  post.  After  the  rendez- 
vous at  Lake  Tear-in-the-Clouds,  where  a  halt 
of  a  day  had  enabled  the  remaining  troops  of 
the  regiment  to  join  the  headquarters,  Colonel 
Wainwright,  for  the  first  time  since  the  Civil 
War,  found  himself  with  a  full  command.  The 
nine  troops,  comprising  with  teamsters  and 
other  auxiliaries  nearly  six  hundred  men,  had 
moved  northward  to  join  General  Crook,  who 
was  somewhere  on  the  Wyoming- Montana 
border  with  the  main  army. 

Chief  Washakie,  a  splendid  specimen  of 
savage,  the  head  of  the  war-like  Shoshones, 
with  a  number  of  his  braves  who  were  loyal  to 
the  United  States,  had  joined  the  marching 
column.  So,  too,  had  old  Meekins,  who  de- 

182 


A  PITCHED  BATTLE 

clared  that  he  had  followed  the  trail  down  the 
canon  carefully  back  to  the  place  of  the  first 
camp  without  discovering  a  sign  of  the  missing 
girl,  although,  as  he  admitted,  the  hard  rain 
practically  obliterated  any  indications  that 
might  have  been  left  had  she  passed  over  it. 

Miss  Benham  had  disappeared  as  completely 
as  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  her. 
There  were  but  two  evidences  of  her  presence 
left,  two  little  slippers,  one  of  which  Kennard 
with  an  unusual  magnanimity  had  given  to  the 
cattleman,  while  he  kept  the  other  himself  in  the 
pocket  of  his  hunting  shirt  under  his  blouse. 
That  little  shoe  and  a  growing  hope  and  an 
ardent  prayer  for  vengeance  were  all  that  were 
left  to  her  lovers.  Both  Sullivan  and  the  young 
soldier  had  resigned  themselves  to  her  death. 
Indeed,  in  their  hearts,  they  prayed  that  death 
might  have  been  the  least  thing  meted  out  to 
her. 

The  whole  regiment,  except  veterans  like  the 
Colonel,  rather  looked  upon  the  present  cam- 
paign as  something  in  the  nature  of  a  mere  mili- 
tary promenade,  a  summer  excursion  into  the 
unknown,  with  some  interesting  skirmishing  at 

183 


THE  WEST  WIND 

the  end  of  it.  But  some  of  the  older  officers, 
including  the  commander  of  the  regiment,  had 
met  Crazy  Horse  and  Roman  Nose  before. 
They  knew  that  at  any  moment  they  were  likely 
to  find  themselves  confronted  with  the  stiffest 
kind  of  a  proposition  in  the  way  of  battle.  In- 
deed, General  Crook  himself  was  on  the  move 
with  the  main  army,  and  they  were  not  quite 
sure  where  he  was.  Good  generalship  would 
indicate  that  the  proper  maneuver  for  the  great 
War  Chief  of  the  Sioux  would  be  to  fall  on  this 
advancing  cavalry  column  in  heavy  force,  either 
with  the  main  body  or  with  a  formidable  detach- 
ment, and  cut  it  to  pieces  before  it  could  effect 
a  conjuncture  with  the  main  body.  Crazy 
Horse  was  sufficiently  capable  a  general  to  un- 
derstand this,  and  Colonel  Wainwright,  espe- 
cially as  he  got  nearer  the  enemy's  country,  fully 
expected  to  be  attacked  in  force.  Consequently 
the  march  became  slower  and  was  conducted 
with  more  and  more  circumspection. 

After  leaving  the  lake,  the  command  had  pro- 
ceeded along  the  east  flank  of  the  range,  expect- 
ing to  dash  through  some  convenient  pass  and 
perhaps  find  the  Indians  on  the  other  side. 

184 


A  PITCHED  BATTLE 

There  were  known  to  be  large  villages  on  the 
hither  side  and  Crook  was  believed  to  be  oper- 
ating in  the  upland  country  on  the  western  side 
of  the  range. 

On  the  third  morning  after  departure,  just 
after  reveille,  and  before  the  men  were  fully 
dressed,  some  wide-awake  Shoshones,  who  had 
been  scouting  ahead,  came  galloping  madly 
back,  giving  the  alarm.  The  camp  of  the  night 
before  had  been  pitched  in  a  valley  near  a  river. 
The  ground  rose  to  the  front  in  successive  ridges 
until  it  reached  a  high  plateau  perhaps  a  mile 
away.  The  river,  beside  which  they  had  rested, 
sprang  sharply  from  a  wide  and  deep  ravine,  or 
canon,  off  to  the  right,  which  cut  through  the 
ridges  rising  before  them,  and  probably  pene- 
trated far  into  the  mountains. 

The  alert  Shoshones,  fortunately,  had  given 
sufficient  warning  of  the  approach  of  the  Sioux 
to  enable  the  troopers  to  dress  hastily  and  mount 
and  deploy.  Kennard's  troop  was  held  in  re- 
serve. The  others  occupied  the  ridges,  three  in 
number,  in  long  successive  lines ;  and  long,  thin, 
extended  lines  they  were,  too.  The  troopers  of 
the  first  line  dismounted  and  took  what  cover 

.85 


THE  WEST  WIND 

they  could  find.     The  others  remained  in  readi- 
ness for  orders  to  advance. 

The  Indians  were  led  by  a  tall,  magnificent- 
looking  Cheyenne,  whom  Meekins,  who  had 
gone  out  with  the  first  line,  recognized  as 
Roman  Nose,  Crazy  Horse's  right-hand  man 
and  the  Chief  of  the  warlike  sept  of  Cheyennes 
allied  with  the  Sioux.  Many  of  the  officers  also 
knew  the  Chief,  for  he  had  been  prominent  in 
various  meetings  which  had  been  held  in  the 
year  previous,  looking  toward  the  securing  of  a 
lasting  peace.  He  was  second  only  to  Crazy 
Horse  himself  in  military  ability  and  not  at  all 
behind  him  in  personal  prowess,  haughty  cour- 
age and  in  the  power  of  enthusing  his  men. 

Riding  rapidly  along  the  front  of  the  line 
on  their  ponies,  and  taking  cover  by  hanging  on 
the  side  farthest  away  from  the  soldiers,  upon 
whom  they  poured  a  hurried  and  ineffectual 
fire,  the  Indians  by  a  series  of  circling  maneuvers 
and  hideous  yelling,  sought  to  disconcert  the 
line.  Several  riderless  horses  and  several, 
dead  Indians,  however,  after  a  time  con- 
vinced Roman  Nose  of  the  futility  of  these  tac- 
tics; and,  wonderful  to  say,  for  the  practice 

1 86 


A  PITCHED  BATTLE 

had  been  almost  unknown  heretofore,  at  a  given 
signal,  the  whole  circling  mass  suddenly  turned^ 
swung  into  line,  poured  a  volley  from  their 
Winchesters  at  close  range  into  the  faces  of  the 
soldiers,  and  then  galloped  straight  at  the  long, 
thin  line  in  blue.  At  the  same  moment  another 
body,  taking  advantage  of  the  lateral  ravine 
which  cut  through  the  ridges,  suddenly  ap- 
peared on  the  left  flank  of  the  white  men. 

The  attack  had  been  brilliantly  planned.  It 
was  dashingly  carried  out.  The  soldiers  deliv- 
ered a  sharp  volley,  but  their  position  was 
plainly  untenable.  They  fell  back  fighting. 
In  some  instances,  the  fighting  was  actually 
hand  to  hand.  The  troops  were  hard  pressed 
and  lost  many  men.  A  counter  charge,  gal- 
lantly delivered  by  Washakie  and  his  Shoshones 
on  the  Cheyenne  left,  alone  enabled  the  soldiery 
to  make  good  their  retreat.  They  halted  after  they 
passed  through  the  second  line  and  re-formed  in 
its  rear  and  the  engagement  at  once  became  gen- 
eral. There  was  good  cover  at  the  top  of  the 
ridge.  The  Indians  dismounted  and  occupied 
this.  The  range  was  short,  and  even  such  poor 
marksmen  as  the  Sioux  and  Cheyennes  proved 


THE  WEST  WIND 

themselves  to  be,  succeeded  at  times  in  hitting 
a  soldier. 

Colonel  Wainwright,  with  his  staff,  sat  on  his 
horse  back  of  the  third  line  and  easily  within 
range  of  Indian  bullets  which  sung  around  him. 
He  anxiously  surveyed  the  scene. 

"How  many  of  them  are  there,  do  you  think?" 
he  asked  Kennard,  commanding  the  reserve 
troop,  who  shared  his  chief's  anxiety  as  he 
watched  the  hotly  contested  battle. 

"I  should  think  there  were  at  least  three  thou- 
sand of  them." 

"Even  with  our  two  hundred  and  fifty  Sho- 
shones,  who  seem  to  be  doing  gallant  work,"  ob- 
served old  Colonel  Wainwright,  thoughtfully, 
"they  outnumber  us  about  four  to  one." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  never  saw  them  come  on  so  recklessly 
either." 

"It  is  new  to  me,  sir,"  replied  Kennard. 

"Mr.  Geikie,"  said  the  Colonel  to  a  young 
second  lieutenant,  who  urged  his  horse  quickly 
to  the  side  of  the  Colonel  and  saluted,  "tell 
Major  Nash,  who  has  command  of  the  third 
line,  to  move  his  men  up  to  the  support  of  the 

188 


A  PITCHED  BATTLE 

second  line.  Tell  him  to  send  B  Troop  off  to 
the  left  and  re-fuse  his  line  to  prevent  any  more 
flank  attacks  down  that  ravine." 

The  lieutenant  saluted  and  galloped  off  like 
the  wind. 

"Captain  Kennard — "  the  Colonel  turned  and 
glanced  at  the  commander  of  his  little  reserve, 
"they  don't  give  back  an  inch." 

"No,  sir." 

"Look  at  that!"  cried  the  old  officer;  "Knowl- 
ton  is  charging!" 

At  that  moment,  the  Lieutenant  Colonel,  who 
had  command  of  the  first  line,  having  got  his 
men  in  shape  and  mounted  them,  galloped  up 
the  hill  straight  at  the  Indians,  the  men  and  their 
commander  burning  to  wipe  out  the  stigma  of 
their  forced  retreat.  The  charge  was  of  some 
force  and  effect,  for  the  Indian  line  bent  back 
like  a  drawn  bow,  and  the  pressure  upon  the 
second  line  of  soldiers  was  immediately  re- 
lieved; but  now,  from  all  sides  of  the  savage 
crescent,  a  tremendous  fire  was  poured  upon 
Knowlton's  column.  It  was  no  -part  of  the 
Lieutenant  Colonel's  plan  to  do  more  than  effect 
the  relief,  which  he  had  done.  Taking  advan- 

189 


THE  WEST  WIND 

tage  of  the  smoke  of  a  heavy  volley,  therefore, 
he  wheeled  about  and  rejoined  the  second  and 
third  lines  again.  The  ground  was  dotted  with 
Indian  slain,  and  there  were  a  number  of  troop- 
ers lying  here  and  there  as  well.  And  not  one 
of  them  could  well  be  spared. 

"Well  done!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel  in  min- 
gled triumph  and  relief;  "that  will  teach  them  a 
lesson,  but  it  was  at  some  cost." 

He  looked  anxiously  off  to  the  left.  Another 
attempt  had  been  made  to  flank  the  line,  but  his 
forethought  in  sending  B  Troop  to  that  point 
was  now  apparent,  and  the  attack  was  repulsed 
by  the  gallant  advance  of  the  troop. 

The  whole  plateau  was  now  ringing  with 
sound  and  covered  with  smoke.  Above  the  rat- 
tle of  the  firearms  rose  the  wild  and  terrifying 
yells  of  the  Sioux  and  the  Cheyennes,  and  at  in- 
tervals a  cheer  from  the  troopers,  although  in 
the  main  they  fought  in  silence.  Although  the 
numbers  engaged  were  small,  the  whole  affair 
exhibited  all  the  characteristics  of  a  great  battle. 
There  were  attacks  and  counter-attacks,  threats, 
feints,  charges  and  so  on. 

"Captain  Kennard,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to 
190 


A  PITCHED  BATTLE 

send  you  in,"  at  last  said  the  Colonel  anxiously. 
"The  Indians  are  holding  their  own ;  this  has  got 
to  be  ended." 

The  Colonel  had  with  him,  in  addition  to  Ken- 
nard's  troop,  the  best  troop  in  the  regiment,  a 
hastily  organized,  ill  sorted,  variously  armed 
force  of  mule  packers,  teamsters,  civilian  at- 
taches, and  employees  of  the  wagon  train. 
They  were  all  brave  men,  experienced  in  fron- 
tier fighting,  but  they  were  not  regular  soldiers. 
When  Kennard's  troop  went  in,  these  would  be 
his  last  and  only  reserve.  The  fight  rapidly  as- 
sumed more  and  more  the  proportions  of  a  hotly 
contested  battle.  The  Indians  were  better 
armed  than  the  soldiers  and  they  seemed  to  have 
a  limitless  supply  of  ammunition. 

"We  are  very  anxious  to  go  in,  sir,"  said  Ken- 
nard,  looking  back  at  his  men.  "We  should 
like  nothing  better  than  a  chance  at  them!" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Here 
comes  Geikie.  What  is  it,  Mr.  Geikie?"  he 
cried,  as  the  young  officer  came  at  a  gallop. 

"Colonel  Knowlton  says  he  can  hold  them 
now,  sir!  He  thinks  they  have  shot  their  bolt," 
he  cried  breathlessly. 

191 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Good!"  said  the  Colonel  with  deep  satisfac- 
tion. "Now  we  can  finish  them  up.  Mr.  Ken- 
nard,  do  you  see  that  canon  off  on  the  right 
flank?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Take  your  men  down  that,  and  at  the  first 
convenient  place  swing  therr.  off  by  the  left  to 
the  plateau  and  we  will  see  if  we  cannot  take 
these  fellows  in  rear  and  in  reverse.  I  will 
keep  them  busy  here.  Wait!  You  men  go  for- 
ward to  that  little  knoll  yonder — "  the  Colonel 
turned  to  the  men  of  the  wagon  train.  "Occupy 
it,  open  fire,  and  when  Captain  Kennard  has 
passed,  you  fall  back  here.  That  will  create  a 
diversion,  I  think,  Kennard,  and  perhaps  you  can 
slip  through  in  the  smoke  and  get  into  the  canon 
without  being  noticed.  At  any  rate,  it  is  our 
only  chance.  Don't  go  too  far,  and  keep  your 
men  well  in  handy  Just  as  soon  as  I  hear  firing 
on  the  right,  I  will  order  a  general  advance  and 
we  will  double  them  up  between  us.  You  un- 
derstand?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Go  ahead  then." 


192 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

KENNARD  saluted  and  turned  to  his  men. 
They  heard  all  that  had  been  said  and  they 
knew  exactly  what  was  expected  of  them. 
Chafing  at  their  previous  inaction,  they  were 
ready  and  eager  for  the  command  to  march. 

The  troop,  which  was  already  in  line,  at  the 
word  broke  into  column  and  trotted  off  to  the 
right.  Meanwhile  the  teamsters  and  others 
with  Meekins  leading  them  had  already  ridden 
tumultuously  to  the  knoll,  which  covered  the 
mouth  of  the  canon,  and  opened  a  tremendous 
fire  on  the  Indians  opposite.  Under  cover  of 
the  smoke  Kennard's  troop  plunged  into  the 
canon,  whose  mouth  was  very  narrow,  and  was 
immediately  lost  to  view. 

With  the  soldiers  by  the  side  of  Kennard,  rode 
Sullivan.  So  soon  as  the  troopers  found  them- 
selves within  the  canon  the  roar  of  the  battle 
died  away,  the  noise  of  it  passed  over  their 

193 


THE  WEST  WIND 

heads,  and  as  they  rode  along  the  rather  easy 
trail,  they  soon  lost  it  altogether. 

The  canon  was  of  the  box  variety.  Its  sides 
almost  perpendicular,  afforded  no  exit  to  the 
upper  country  on  either  hand.  Its  bottom  had 
been  washed  out  by  the  torrent  which  was  at 
present  existing  only  in  the  shape  of  a  trickling 
rill  off  to  the  left.  The  going  was  easy,  and 
the  command  moved  forward  at  a  sharp  trot, 
eagerly  looking  for  a  way  out  to  the  upland  to 
the  left. 

They  had  progressed  for  more  than  half  a 
mile  without  finding  any  practicable  lateral 
trail  for  the  horses,  and  perhaps  nofeven  for  an 
unmounted  man.  Kennard,  who  rode  in  the  ad- 
vance, was  beginning  to  get  a  little  anxious. 
The  canon  twisted  and  wound  among  the  hills 
as  it  plunged  farther  and  farther  into  the  range. 
It  grew  narrower,  too,  and  the  trail  became  ob- 
structed with  gigantic  bowlders.  The  way  be- 
came more  difficult  and  the  advance  was  made 
with  more  and  more  circumspection.  Finally 
at  a  point  where  the  canon  took  a  sharp  bend 
to  the  right,  the  troop  was  halted.  Schneider 

194 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

and  one  of  the  veterans  of  the  company  were  sent 
forward  to  see  what  they  could  discover. 

It  was  as  still  as  death  in  the  depths  of  the 
great  rift  in  the  mountains  save  for  the  uneasy 
movements  of  the  tired  horses,  the  jingle  of  bits 
and  accouterments,  and  a  whispered  word  now 
and  then  passed  between  some  of  the  men. 

Off  to  the  left  across  the  stream  the  wall, 
which  was  everywhere  else  so  monotonously 
perpendicular,  happened  to  be  badly  broken. 
Kennard  surveyed  the  place  carefully  while  they 
waited. 

"Horses  might  get  up  there,  I  think,"  he  said, 
after  a  long,  close  inspection. 

"Yes,  it  is  possible,"  admitted  Sullivan. 

"It  would  be  hard  scrambling  for  them,  sir," 
remarked  Lieutenant  Hamilton,  who  had  just 
joined  them. 

"Still,  it  is  the  first  place  I  have  seen  which 
would  enable  us  to  carry  out  the  Colonel's 
orders,"  said  the  Captain.  "I  wonder  how  the 
battle  goes  back  yonder?" 

"We  can  tell  nothing  about  that,"  answered 
Sullivan.  "This  canon  has  twisted  and  turned 


THE  WEST  WIND 

so  much  since  we  got  in  it,  that  we  can't  even  tell 
where  the  fight  was." 

"We  will  soon  see  if  we  get  on  the  uplands." 

"Yes." 

"I  wonder  what  is  ahead  of  us?"  queried  the 
Captain  thoughtfully — then  with  quick  decision 
-"Mr.  Hamilton!" 

The  Lieutenant  saluted. 

"Ride  to  the  bend  of  the  canon  and  see  if  you 
can  get  sight  of  Schneider." 

The  Lieutenant  picked  his  way  gingerly  over 
the  rough  stones  until  he  too  disappeared  around 
the  bend  after  the  other  two. 

"The  villages  of  that  crowd  we  're  fighting 
ought  to  lie  somewhere  around  these  parts,"  said 
Sullivan. 

"Yes;  I  wonder  if  she  is  in  one  of  them!" 

"I  wonder,"  answered  the  big  cattleman, 
gloomily  and  with  sad  foreboding. 

And  both  were  silent.  Presently  Hamilton 
came  back  with  Schneider  and  the  trooper  at  his 
heels.  They  came  rapidly  and  in  great  excite- 
ment. 

"There  is  a  village  a  half  mile  beyond  the 
point,"  began  Hamilton  so  soon  as  he  was  near. 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

"Schneider  went  far  enough  to  get  a  good  sight 
of  it.     He  saw  a  bunch  of— 

Here  Schneider  came  up  and  saluted. 

"What  did  you  make  of  it,  Sergeant?"  asked 
Kennard. 

"It  is  a  good-sized  village,  sir.  I  saw  forty  or 
fifty  tepees." 

"Any  men?" 

"No,  sir.     Women  and  children  only." 

"Kennard!"  cried  the  cattleman,  seizing  the 
Captain  by  the  arm,  "she  will  be  there!  Let 
us  jump  the  village!" 

"No,"  said  Kennard,  simply. 

"Good  God,  man,  you  don't  mean  to  hesitate 
with  such  a  chance  as  this!" 

"My  orders,"  began  the  Captain,  saluting. 

"To  hell  with  your  orders!"  roared  the  cattle- 
man furiously.  "I  tell  you  the  girl  is  there.  I 
feel  it.  Those  bucks  are  all  at  the  front  fighting 
the  rest  of  the  regiment.  We  've  got  the  chance 
of  our  lives  here  to  smash  up  the  whole  business 
and  get  back  the  girl." 

"It  may  be  as  you  say,"  returned  the  Captain, 
who  had  grown  as  pale  as  death,  "but  I  have 
positive  orders  to — " 

197 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"But  I  tell  you  if  the  Colonel  was  here  he 
would  say  go  on.  Am  I  not  right,  men?" 

The  big  cattleman  turned  and  addressed  the 
troopers  crowding  close  behind.  It  was  easy  to 
see  where  their  desires  lay,  for  a  deep-voiced 
affirmative  arose  from  the  majority. 

"Silence  in  the  ranks!"  cried  Kennard  imperi- 
ously, his  face  flushing  with  indignation  at  this 
monstrous  breach  of  discipline.  "By  heavens! 
the  first  man  that  raises  his  voice  again — "  He 
turned  toward  them,  pistol  in  hand,  with  a 
threatening  gesture.  "I  understand  the  oppor- 
tunity as  well  as  you  do,  Sullivan,  and  I  would 
give  my  life  to  go  on." 

"Why  don't  you  go  on  then?" 

"Because  I  have  orders  to  do  a  certain  thing, 
and  this  is  the  only  place  it  can  be  done." 

"And  because  of  your  damn  fool  orders,  are 
you  going  to  leave  that  girl  to  the  fate  that 
awaits  her?"  he  sneered  insultingly.  "You  call 
yourself  a  man!" 

He  pushed  his  horse  threateningly  close  to  the 
other  as  he  spoke. 

"I  call  myself  a  soldier,"  answered  Kennard, 
198 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

returning  stare  with  stare  and  not  giving  back  an 
inch.  "I  have  got  orders  to  obey  and  I  am  going 
to  obey  them." 

"Well,  I  have  got  no  orders  and  I  am  not  going 
to  obey  you  or  any  man!"  cried  the  rancher  with 
passionate  vehemence. 

"You  are  your  own  master,  fortunately  for 
you,"  returned  Kennard  coldly  enough,  although 
the  fires  were  burning  in  his  heart. 
.  "I  am  going  to  get  that  poor  girl  out  of  hell, 
too;  thank  God,  I  am!  And  I  am  not  going  to 
do  it  alone  either.  Men !"  he  cried  to  the  excited 
troopers,  "are  you  going  to  leave  that  woman 
to  her  fate?  Who  will  volunteer  to  ride  through 
that  village  with  me?  If  ten  men  will  go,  I 
will." 

"Sullivan!"  cried  Kennard,  as  the  men  in  obe- 
dience to  a  sudden,  irresistible  impulse  surged 
forward,  "if  you  say  another  word  to  my  men, 
by  the  living  God,  I  will  shoot  you  where  you 
sit  your  horse!  I  would  do  it  now  if  we  did 
not  love  the  same  woman.  Get  back,  men!"  he 
cried,  keeping  Sullivan  still  covered  with  his  re- 
volver; "get  back!" 

199 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Fall  in  ranks,"  shouted  Hamilton  and  Bod- 
ley,  whipping  out  their  own  revolvers,  and  con- 
fronting the  disorganized  men. 

"I  am  with  you,  Captain,"  said  Schneider,  the 
old  Sergeant,  presenting  his  own  rifle  at  the  men 
of  the  troop  he  was  accustomed  to  call  his  chil- 
dren. 

"What  the  hell  do  we  care  for  orders  when  the 
girl's  in  question!"  cried  a  young  trooper,  the 
newest  recruit  of  the  lot,  hardly  yet  broken  to 
the  stern,  self-sacrificing  obedience  of  the  sol- 
dier. "I  'm  going  with  the  cowboy.  Who  's 
with  me?" 

He  happened  to  be  the  left  file  of  the  first 
four.  As  he  spoke  he  fearlessly  struck  spurs  to 
his  horse.  The  whole  troop  in  mad  excitement 
seemed  about  to  follow  the  leader.  In  an  in- 
stant, Kennard  was  by  his  side.  Clutching  his 
revolver  by  the  barrel,  he  struck  the  man  heavily 
on  the  side  of  the  head.  He  reeled  and  would 
have  fallen  senseless  from  his  horse  had  not  the 
Sergeant  caught  him.  The  next  instant  Ken- 
nard had  reversed  his  weapon  and  confronted  the 
troop. 

"You  call  yourselves  soldiers!"  he  cried  in  bit- 
zoo 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

ter  scorn,  in  which  shame  for  them  was  mingled, 
"As  there  is  a  God  above  me,  I  will  let  daylight 
through  the  whole  troop  if  you  don't  instantly 
come  to  a  halt  and  attention."  He  stared  hard 
for  a  moment  at  the  flushed,  excited  faces,  con- 
fronting them  with  iron  resolution  and  determi- 
nation. "Sergeant,"  he  continued,  as  the  men 
slowly  subsided,  "fasten  that  damned  mutineer 
on  his  horse.  He  is  n't  dead  yet,  although  he  de- 
serves to  be.  Men,  I  yield  to  no  one  in  my  re- 
spect for  and  devotion  to  Miss  Benham.  I 
would  have  made  her  my  wife.  I  would  like 
nothing  better  than  to  lead  you  through  that  vil- 
lage, but  it  can't  be  done.  I  have  orders  which 
must  be  obeyed.  Sullivan,  you  are  not  a  soldier, 
you  can  do  as  you  please,  but  no  more  speeches 
to  my  men,  at  your  peril.  Here  I  am  in  com- 
mand." 

By  this  time  Sullivan's  weapon  covered  the 
Captain. 

"Before  you  could  open  your  mouth  again," 
he  said,  "you  would  be  a  dead  man." 

"And  then  the  men  of  this  troop  would  tear 
you  to  pieces,  by  God!"  burst  out  old  Schneider 
furiously.  "I'm  ashamed  of  them;  they  are 

201 


THE  WEST  WIND 

cowboys,  not  soldiers/'  went  on  the  veteran; 
l"but  they  'd  do  that  much  for  the  Captain." 

"Right,  Schneider,"  cried  Hamilton. 

"Count  me  in  on  that  game,"  hotly  seconded 
Bodley. 

A  deep,  hoarse,  ominous  murmur  rose  from  the 
ranks  of  the  now  thoroughly  ashamed  men,  as  the 
Sergeant  ceased  speaking. 

Sullivan  laughed  contemptuously. 

"You  're  a  damned  fine  lot,"  he  said  scorn- 
fully; "I '11  go  alone." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Sullivan,"  said  Kennard,  tak- 
ing up  the  conversation. 

"Rather  a  fool  than  a  blue-coated,  gold- 
braided  coward!"  sneered  the  cattleman,  turn- 
ing away. 

At  this  fearful  insult,  Kennard  made  a  con- 
vulsive movement  toward  Sullivan,  while  the 
troopers  groaned  and  surged  forward  as  if  to 
get  at  the  man  who  so  foully  aspersed  them  in 
the  person  of  their  captain.  It  was  the  old 
Sergeant  who  steadied  them. 

"Think  of  the  men,  Captain,"  said  Hamilton 
quickly,  laying  his  hand  on  his  superior's  pistol. 
*(You  can  do  nothing,  now,  sir." 

202 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

"Yes,  the  men,"  said  Kennard  hoarsely,  mas- 
tering himself;  "I  will  settle  with  him  later." 

Meanwhile,  there  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  far 
down  the  canon.  A  horseman  was  approach- 
ing at  the  best  speed  possible  over  such  broken 
ground.  Kennard  rode  to  one  side  and  stared 
at  him.  He  was  waving  his  hat.  A  short  dis- 
tance behind  another  followed  him. 

The  first  was  Geikie,  the  Colonel's  aide ;  the 
second  was  a  trooper. 

"Captain  Kennard!"  cried  Geikie,  as  he  drew 
nearer.  "Thank  God!  I  have  reached  you  in 
time.  The  main  force  of  hostiles  has  withdrawn 
from  our  front.  Colonel  Wainwright  fears 
they  have  set  a  trap  for  you.  You  are  to  come 
back  down  the  canon  as  quick  as  possible.  He 
is  advancing  up  the  right  side  to  cover  your  re- 
treat. You  understand?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Kennard. 

He  turned  with  a  sharp  command.  The 
fours  swung  about  on  their  horses  where  they 
stood.  There  was  no  time  for  turning  the 
whole  column,  and  instantly  began  the  back- 
ward march.  They  did  not  go  without  com- 
ment. For  Sullivan,  furiously  angry,  his  fight- 

203 


THE  WEST  WIND 

ing  Irish  blood  up,  called  out  to  them,  mingling 
mockeries  and  jeers  and  heaping  curses  upon 
them,  as  they  trotted  away  down  the  canon. 
There  was  not  a  man  among  them  who  would 
not  gladly  have  killed  him,  save  the  wretched, 
half-conscious,  helpless  mutineer  tied  to  his  sad- 
dle. 

They  were  not  to  make  the  return  journey  un- 
hindered, for  about  half  way  down,  the  bluff  on 
the  opposite  side  suddenly  blazed  with  fire. 
The  Indians  were  there  in  force.  The  fore- 
thought of  the  Colonel,  however,  had  despatched 
a  strong  relieving  force  up  on  the  right  side  of 
the  canon.  They  arrived  most  opportunely, 
just  as  the  Cheyennes  opened  fire,  and  an  an- 
swering volley  swept  across  the  canon,  driving 
the  Indians  from  the  brink  of  it. 

Under  cover  of  this  fire  Kennard  managed  to 
get  his  men  out  of  the  death  trap,  although 
not  without  serious  loss.  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Knowlton,  who  commanded  the  relief,  fell  back 
with  him,  the  Indians  following;  and  by  mid- 
afternoon,  after  a  long  day  of  hard  fighting,  the 
troops  went  into  camp  on  the  very  spot  they  had 
held  in  the  morning. 

204 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

It  was  at  best  but  a  drawn  battle.  The  Indian 
loss  had  really  greatly  exceeded  that  of  the  sol- 
diers, although  proportionately  it  was  not  seri- 
ous on  account  of  their  overwhelming  numbers. 
Tactically  the  advantage  remained  with  the  In- 
dians, for  Wainwright's  advance  was  stopped. 
He  did  not  dare  with  his  small  force  to  pro- 
ceed further.  In  fact,  toward  nightfall  he  with- 
drew to  the  southward,  some  miles  from  the 
battle  field,  and  there  established  himself  in  a 
good  defensive  position. 

So  soon  as  his  duties  permitted,  Kennard 
sought  an  interview  with  his  commander.  In 
bitterness  of  heart,  he  related  all  that  had  oc- 
curred in  the  canon.  He  had  been  proud  to  be 
a  soldhr  and  now  he  hated  the  position.  He 
had  been  stopped  right  at  the  moment  when  a 
bold  dash  might  have  enabled  him  to  snatch  the 
woman  he  loved  from  her  tortures.  And  to  add 
to  his  misery,  his  men  whom  he  loved  and  trusted 
had  all  but  mutinied  and  overridden  him! 

The  cattleman,  who  also  loved  her,  had 
branded  him  as  a  coward  in  the  face  of  those 
very  men,  and  had  gone  on  to  attempt  alone  the 
heroic  undertaking  of  her  rescue.  His  troop 

205 


THE  WEST  WIND 

had  failed  him  in  the  crucial  moment.  He  had 
checked  their  mutiny  at  the  peril  of  his  life  in 
the  nick  of  time.  But  that  they  had  for  a  mo- 
ment got  out  of  his  hands,  cut  him  to  the  heart. 
He  had  been  so  proud  of  them. 

"I  tell  you,  Colonel  Wainwright,"  said  Ken- 
nard,  passionately,  as  all  these  things  were  re- 
lated to  the  commander,  "I  am  on  the  verge  of 
resigning  my  commission!" 

"Kennard,"  said  the  old  officer,  who  had 
known  the  other  since  he  was  a  boy,  "I  under- 
stand how  you  feel.  You  love  the  girl.  I  can 
sympathize  with  you  there.  I  can  enter  into 
all  your  -shame  about  the  troop,  too — they  shall 
suffer  for  it  I — but  you  had  no  assurance  that  she 
was  there  in  the  first  place,  and  in  the  second 
place,  if  you  had  gone  on,  you  can  see  now 
that  your  command  would  have  been  cut  to 
pieces." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  muttered  the  young  man 
hoarsely. 

"It  was  your  obedience  as  a  soldier  that  saved 
you,"  the  Colonel  urged.  "You  have  your  men 
to  think  of,  and  disgracefully  as  they  behaved 
they  are  still  soldiers.  You  represent  the 

206 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

United  States,  whose  claim  upon  you  is  higher 
than  that  of  any  man  or  any  woman.  As  it  was, 
you  were  lucky  to  get  out  with  a  single  man  al'ive. 
It  was  a  narrow  escape.  My  fault  to  have  sent 
you  there;  I  realized  it  almost  as  soon  as  you 
had  gone,  and  as  the  Indian  firing  in  front 
gradually  slackened,  I  determined  to  recall  you 
and  to  send  Knowlton.  I  am  thankful  to  God, 
I  did." 

"But,  sir,"  said  Kennard,  "I  can't  get  away 
from  the  fact  that  she  was  there.  She  must  have 
been  there.  Where  else  on  God's  earth  caa 
she  be!  and  he  has  gone  to  save  her  after  brand- 
ing me  as  a  coward  in  the  front  of  my  own  men. 
Good  God!  Give  me  one  chance!" 

"You  know  you  are  not  a  coward,  Kennard. 
We  know  that  it  took  more  courage  to  obey  your 
orders  than  it  did  to  follow  Sullivan  and  I  wiM 
give  you  a  chance.  A  courier  came  in  saying 
that  those  cowboys  have  been  organized  into  a 
company  of  scouts.  Those  that  belong  to  the 
Benham  ranch  that  you  sent  back.  They  are 
to  report  here  to-night.  They  want  a  captaia. 
I  will  give  you  charge  of  them,  if  they  will  take 
you.  Hamilton  can  handle  your  troop  now, 

207 


THE  WEST  WIND 

and  besides  they  need  a  rest  after  being  so  cut  up 
to-day." 

"Good,  good!"  exclaimed  Kennard  as  the 
Colonel  paused. 

"We  do  not  know  where  Roman  Nose  has 
gone,  probably  off  to  the  westward.  He  has  to 
be  located,"  returned  the  old  officer;  "word 
has  to  be  got  to  Crook.  A  courier  from  the  De- 
partment Commander  di-rects  me  to  remain 
where  I  am  until  reinforced  by  the  Ninth 
Cavalry,  which  is  on  the  march.  Then  we  are 
to  go  forward.  Meanwhile  you  can  go  out  on 
the  scout.  Find  Roman  Nose,  find  Crazy 
Horse.  Get  word  to  Crook  where  we  are,  and 
of  the  check  we  have  sustained,  and  perhaps 
you  can  get  trace  of  the  woman." 

"I'll  do  it,  sir;  I  '11  do  it!" 

"We  shall  be  here  for  three  days  at  least.  It 
will  take  that  time  for  the  Ninth  Cavalry  to  join 
us,  and  you  can  always  find  us  if  it  is  necessary," 
continued  the  Colonel.  "If  we  are  not  here  it 
will  be  because  we  have  moved  back  to  Tear 
Lake.  In  fact,  I  think  I  shall  move  there  to- 
morrow or  at  least  in  that  direction.  It  is  as 
easy  to  strike  across  the  range  from  there  as 

208 


THE  MUTINY  IN  THE  PASS 

here,  and  the  Indians  after  this  encounter  will 
certainly  have  gone  to  the  other  side.  I  suspect 
that  Crazy  Horse  detached  Roman  Nose  to 
check  us  and  will  now  be  massing  on  Crook. 
Well,  he  has  enough  men  to  hold  his  own,  and 
anyway  I  have  no  option  but  to  remain  here- 
abouts. You  understand?" 

"Yes,  sir,  and  I  thank  God  for  the  chance 
you  give  me !" 

"Go,"  saM  the  Colonel,  "and  get  some  rest. 
These  men  will  be  tired  out  after  their  all  day's 
ride.  When  they  come  in  I  '11  have  you  called. 
You  can  take  them  out  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning." 

"And  Sullivan?" 

"He  has  made  his  own  bed.  He  will  have  to 
lie  in  it,"  said  the  Colonel;  "at  least  we  can 
do  nothing  for  him." 

"He  is  a  brave  man,"  responded  Kennard 
magnanimously,  "even  if  he  did  call  me  a 
coward." 


209 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN  THE  WIGWAM 

SULLIVAN  was  hot  tempered  and  impul- 
sive, but  at  heart  he  was  both  generous  and 
just.  He  stared  blankly  after  the  retreating 
soldiers  until  a  turn  in  the  canon  hid  them  from 
his  sight.  His  resentment  grew  less  with  each 
passing  moment,  and  before  they  were  com- 
pletely out  of  view,  if  he  had  enjoyed  the  power, 
he  would  have  called  back  to  them  some  sort  of 
an  apology  for  his  bitter  stigmatism  of  their 
courage  and  conduct.  By  the  time  he  had 
reached  that  frame  of  mind,  however,  it  was  too 
late.  Resolving  in  his  heart  that  so  soon  as  he 
could  do  so  he  would  make  proper  explanation 
and  amendment,  he  addressed  himself  to  the 
business  in  hand. 

He  did  not  propose  to  do  anything  rash  or 
impetuous.  If  the  troop  had  been  with  him  he 
would  have  suggested  a  bold  dash  on  the  village, 
now  that  its  natural  defenders  were  away;  then, 

210 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

a  thorough  search  of  it  for  the  girl,  whom  he 
had  no  doubt  would  be  found  in  one  of  the 
tepees,  and  then  a  ride  back  for  freedom. 
Alone  he  could  do  nothing  that  way. 

It  was  now  about  mid-day.  Whatever  he 
could  accomplish  single-handed,  would  have  to 
be  done  under  cover  of  darkness.  Meanwhile, 
it  was  necessary  for  him  to  seek  some  place  of 
concealment.  The  seamed  and  rugged  canon 
afforded  numerous  spots  where  he  could  lie  hid- 
den, but  they  were  not  suitable  for  his  further 
purpose,  which  was  a  place  whence  unobserved 
he  could  have  the  village  in  view. 

Schneider  and  the  others  had  said  that  it  was 
in  sight  a  short  distance  beyond.  He  dis- 
mounted, stripped  his  horse  of  saddle,  bridle  and 
equipments,  which  he  carefully  concealed,  and 
turned  the  pony  loose,  driving  him  back  down 
the  canon  after  the  others.  Examining  most 
carefully  his  weapons,  he  started  cautiously  for- 
ward, keeping  a  bright  lookout  in  every  direc- 
tion. 

He  had  proceeded  but  a  little  distance  when 
he  heard  faint  and  far  down  the  canon  the  sound 
of  firing.  He  realized,  of  course,  what  had 

211 


THE  WEST  WIND 

happened.  He  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  if 
the  troop  had  gone  on  as  he  had  suggested  they 
would  have  all  been  caught  in  a  trap,  whence 
they  would  have  been  unable  to  extricate  them- 
selves. They  would  all  have  been  cut  to  pieces. 

He  had  some  anxiety,  indeed,  for  the  troop  as 
it  was,  but  there  was  nothing  he  could  do,  and 
summoning  what  philosophy  he  had,  he  walked 
cautiously  toward  the  village.  He  realized  that 
in  one  thing  the  encounter  below  in  the  canon 
gave  him  an  additional  advantage,  for  every 
brave  capable  of  firing  a  gun  would  be  with- 
drawn from  the  village  to  take  part  in  the  am- 
bush. If  only  he  had  been  unobserved,  all 
would  be  well  with  him.  There  was  no  evi- 
dence that  any  one  had  seen  him  either. 

The  canon  was  very  crooked,  and  he  was 
greatly  astonished,  on  turning  a  sharp  bend,  to 
find  himself  suddenly  confronted  by  a  full-grown 
Indian  in  his  war  gear.  The  left  arm  of  the 
savage  hung  helpless.  There  was  a  dirty  ban- 
dage tied  around  it,  such  as  the  rude  fingers  of 
some  unskilled  squaw  might  have  made.  If  he 
had  time  to  think,  Sullivan  might  have  guessed 
that  here  was  one  of  the  war  party  that  had  been 

212 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

cut  to  pieces  on  the  ledge  a  few  days  before,  who 
had  not  got  off  scatheless,  and  who  was  now 
coming  down  the  canon  to  be  in  at  what  he 
would  naturally  suppose  would  be  the  death  of 
the  troop.  In  his  right  hand  the  warrior  car- 
ried a  Winchester. 

For  a  second  the  white  man  and  the  red  man 
stared  fixedly  at  each  other.  Which  was  the 
more  surprised  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The 
white  man,  through  keenly  attuned  nerves, 
thought  a  trifle  more  quickly  than  the  other  and 
first  awoke  to  action.  Just  as  the  Indian  raised 
his  right  hand  intending  to  fire  his  Winchester 
as  best  he  could  with  one  arm,  Sullivan  sprang 
upon  him.  The  gun  flew  from  the  Indian's 
hand  and  fell  on  the  rocks  some  distance  away. 
Fortunately  it  did  not  explode. 

With  wonderful  dexterity  the  Indian  drew  a 
knife  hanging  at  his  belt  and  cut  viciously  at  the 
rancher,  who  had  grabbed  him  with  both  hands 
by  the  throat  to  prevent  an  outcry.  The  two 
were  stumbling  about  over  the  rocks  else  the 
knife  thrust  might  have  got  home  in  the  white 
man's  body.  As  it  was,  it  did  inflict  a  wound, 
which  would  after  a  while  prove  troublesome, 

213 


THE  WEST  WIND 

but  which  in  the  heat  of  the  conflict  only  served 
to  madden  the  man. 

The  unfortunate  Indian  had  no  chance  to  re- 
peat the  blow,  the  pressure  on  his  throttle  was 
so  terrible,  so  much  greater,  indeed,  than  Sulli- 
van realized,  that  the  knife  fell  from  his  nerve- 
less hand.  The  Indian  turned  black  in  the  face, 
Sullivan  shaking  him  as  a  terrier  a  rat.  As  the 
Indian's  muscles  relaxed,  they  both  slipped  and 
fell.  Still  clutching  him  tenaciously,  the  two 
plunged  to  the  ground,  the  red  man  underneath. 
When  Sullivan  finally  released  his  grip  he  saw 
that  the  Indian  was  dead,  either  by  choking  or 
by  breaking  his  back  when  he  fell,  or  in  what- 
ever way  it  might  be.  At  any  rate  his  troubles 
were  over. 

It  was  easy  to  conceal  him  in  one  of  the  cran- 
nies of  the  rocks  and  roll  a  few  bowlders  down 
upon  him,  so  that  unless  the  search  for  him  was 
careful  he  would  not  be  observed. 

Before  thus  disposing  of  the  body,  however, 
the  ranchman  slipped  off  the  clothing  of  the 
dead  man,  which  consisted  of  a  beautifully  em- 
broidered buckskin  shirt,  fringed  buckskin 
leggings,  a  magnificent  war  bonnet,  and  the 

214 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

other  accouterments  of  a  warrior  of  the  first 
rank. 

A  plan  had  already  formed  itself  in  his  mind, 
to  the  furtherance  of  which  this  savage  panoply 
would  greatly  conduce.  Possessing  himself 
also  of  the  Indian's  weapons,  including  the  knife 
which  had  cut  him  in  the  side,  and  first  taking 
the  precaution  to  bind  up  as  well  as  he  could  his 
wound — ugly  looking  but  not  serious — Sullivan 
went  forward  again.  This  time  with  more  cau- 
tion than  ever. 

Finally  he  reached  a  place  whence  he  could 
observe  the  Indian  camp.  The  canon  widened 
out  into  a  wooded  valley.  The  village  was 
pitched  on  one  side  of  the  stream,  the  same  that 
flowed  through  the  canon.  Fortune  now  fa- 
vored the  rancher  again,  for  a  short  distance 
away  in  the  side  of  the  cliff  he  observed  a  deep 
depression  over  which  the  rock  wall  extended 
in  a  huge  overhang.  This  niche,  or  recess,  was 
sufficiently  scored  out  of  the  wall,  he  found 
when  he  climbed  up  to  it,  to  afford  a  man  lying 
down  concealment  from  observation  either  from 
above  or  below. 

Filling  the  canteen  which  Kennard  had  given 
215 


THE  WEST  WIND 

him  at  the  brook,  and  making  sure  that  he  was 
not  observed,  he  cautiously  climbed  up  to  the 
rock,  and  sank  down  in  the  hollow  or  recess 
which  perfectly  concealed  him.  Through  a 
crevice  he  could  see  all  that  went  on  in  the 
Indian  camp. 

All  through  the  long  afternoon  he  lay  there 
watching.  There  was  the  usual  bustle  and 
movement  in  the  camp.  Herds  of  ponies,  of 
which  the  Indians  seemed  to  have  uncountable 
supply,  grazed  on  the  meadow  beyond.  Near  a 
clump  of  trees  squaws  were  busy  about  fires  pre- 
paring an  evening  meal.  Children  ran  to  and 
fro  and  played  at  mimic  warfare.  Dogs 
snarling  and  barking  wandered  unmolested 
among  the  tepees.  The  scene  was  all  peaceful, 
the  encampment  undisturbed.  The  Indian 
women  were  evidently  confident  that  their  men 
would  keep  off  the  soldiers  and  they  went  about 
their  ordinary  occupations  with  great  indiffer- 
ence. 

The  ranchman  was  keen  sighted  and  he  scru- 
tinized with  utmost  care  every  moving  figure. 
His  heart  beat  high  with  anticipation  and  hope 
that  one  of  them  might  be  Amy  Benham.  He 

216 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

was  still  a  long  distance  from  the  camp,  but  as 
the  hours  wore  away,  he  became  quite  certain 
that  none  of  the  women  in  view  were  white. 
If  she  were  there  she  must  be  a  prisoner  in  one 
of  the  tepees,  a  thing  not  in  itself  unlikely.  The 
possibility  was  so  real  that  he  resolved  not  to 
abandon  his  design  without  making  sure  at  any 
cost. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  camp  was  aroused 
to  great  excitement  by  the  return  of  the  band  of 
warriors  to  which  it  belonged.  They  crossed 
the  brook  between  the  mouth  of  the  canon  and 
the  camp  itself,  and  Sullivan  had  a  near  view  of 
them. 

They  were  talking  and  gesticulating  eagerly, 
evidently  about  the  battle  which  had  just  been 
fought.  The  watcher  caught  words  now  and 
then  which  indicated  the  subject  of  their  conver- 
sation and  he  listened  intently,  striving  to  make 
out  what  the  results  of  the  encounter  had  been. 
He  saw  no  prisoners,  and  but  few  scalps  were 
waved  triumphantly  aloft.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  were  many  wounded  Indians,  and  he  in- 
ferred from  this  that  they  had  been  hardly  dealt 
with.  Yet  they  seemed  to  be  in  remarkably 

217 


THE  WEST  WIND 

good  spirits  notwithstanding  their  losses.  The 
troopers  must  have  been  driven  back,  but  at 
least  they  had  not  been  massacred.  Kennard's 
troop  had  evidently  not  been  cut  to  pieces. 
Sullivan  heaved  a  sign  of  relief  when  he  came 
to  this  conclusion.  His  conduct  toward  them 
worried  him  the  more  he  thought  of  it. 

He  studied  the  Indians  the  more  intently  in 
the  hope  of  getting  some  clue  from  their 
remarks,  when  suddenly  the  Half  Breed,  the 
center  of  another  group,  sprang  into  his  line  of 
vision.  Instantly  the  rancher  clutched  the  rifle 
that  lay  by  his  side.  He  could  easily  have 
killed  the  Half  Breed.  The  distance  was  not 
great  for  so  good  a  shot  as  he,  and  his  whole 
soul  urged  him  to  shoot  down  the  villain  with- 
out mercy.  Second  thoughts,  however,  re- 
strained him.  The  shot  would  have  meant  his 
certain  death,  for  he  never  could  have  got  away 
from  that  place  without  drawing  attention  to 
himself.  That  would  not  have  made  him 
pause;  cheerfully  would  he  have  given  up  his 
own  life  to  finish  the  Half  Breed.  But  suppose 
Amy  Benham  was  there,  his  own  death  would 
materially  diminish  her  chance  of  escape.  He 

218 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

had  to  bide  his  time  and  hold  his  hand,  but  he 
had  never  attempted  a  harder  thing. 

He  divined  after  a  while  that  this  was  a  small 
band  of  Oglalas.  It  had  been  Yellow  Foot's 
band,  but  he  had  been  slain  back  in  the  canon, 
and  the  Half  Breed  had  fallen  heir  to  the  lead- 
ership of  it.  The  other  Indians,  most  Chey- 
ennes,  were  on  the  march  elsewhere  under  Roman 
Nose.  This  band  was  practically  detailed  to  re- 
main in  the  vicinity  and  observe  the  troopers  for 
a  day  or  two,  apparently,  and  then  follow  after 
the  main  body.  The  soldiers  had  evidently  sus- 
tained a  severe  check. 

The  sight  of  his  arch  enemy  made  him  more 
certain  than  ever  that  Amy  Benham  must  be  in 
one  of  the  tepees.  It  was  very  late  in  the  afternoon 
now;  the  day  was  almost  done  and  evening  was 
approaching.  The  cattleman  was  tired,  cramped 
in  his  narrow  quarters,  worn  out  by  his  long 
vigil,  and  he  prayed  that  night  might  speedily 
come  to  help  him  make  his  attempt.  Mean- 
while he  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  village,  and 
the  Half  Breed,  especially.  He  observed  him 
go  in  and  out  one  of  the  largest  tepees  several 
times  and  concluded  that  this  was  his  own. 

219 


THE  WEST  WIND 

Sullivan  had  a  good  eye  for  topography.  He 
marked  the  location  of  it  well,  and  also  the  char- 
acter of  the  surrounding  country.  It  would  be 
moonlight  shortly  after  the  sun  set,  which  was 
bad  for  his  plan,  but  he  could  not  help  that. 
The  camp  itself  was  shaded  by  a  growth  of  pine 
trees.  He  saw  where  the  herd  of  ponies  was 
kept.  He  laid  his  plans  with  the  keenest  calcu- 
lations he  was  capable  of. 

He  had  some  food  in  the  pocket  of  his  hunting 
shirt,  and  the  water  in  his  canteen  kept  him  from 
suffering  severely  from  thirst.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  very  glad  when  the  sun  set  at  last  after  the 
long  June  day,  and  darkness  filled  the  canon. 
Its  direction  was  such  that  the  moonlight  shone 
upon  the  farther  side  and  the  deep  shadow  about 
him  made  his  position  the  more  secure. 

He  arose  to  his  feet  as  soon  as  it  was  safe  to 
do  so,  and  slipped  off  his  own  clothing.  He  even 
divested  himself  of  his  heavy  boots  and  dragged 
on  the  moccasins  of  the  Indian  over  his  larger 
feet.  He  put  on  everything,  war  bonnet  and 
all.  His  hair  was  black  and  his  skin  swarthy; 
although  his  hair  was  curly  he  hoped  no  one 
would  observe  that  in  the  darkness  or  the  moon- 

220 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

light.  His  white  arms  would  have  betrayed 
him  had  he  bared  them  in  accordance  with 
Indian  custom,  but  he  happened  to  have  on  a 
dark  brown  undershirt,  and  that  he  did  not  re- 
move. 

He  waited  until  the  camp  went  to  sleep.  It 
was  perhaps  half  after  nine  or  ten  o'clock  before 
he  thought  it  safe  to  venture. 

Sullivan  was  not  what  you  would  call  a 
religious  man,  and  perhaps  if  only  his  own  life 
had  been  concerned  he  would  not  have  thought 
of  it,  but  he  was  going  to  make  a  desperate  en- 
deavor for  her,  and  so  before  he  stepped  out  of 
the  canon,  he  knelt  down  among  the  stones  and 
put  up  a  voiceless  prayer  that  he  might  succeed. 

He  had  two  objects  in  view.  One  was  to  get 
the  girl  and  the  other  was  to  kill  the  Half  Breed. 
Skirting  the  wall  of  the  canon  as  long  as  he 
could,  and  keeping  well  within  the  shadow  of 
the  trees  wherever  they  served,  Sullivan  at 
last  gained  the  outskirts  of  the  camp.  Once  a 
dog  sprang  at  him  out  of  the  darkness,  open- 
mouthed,  but  the  man  struck  it  such  a  sudden, 
terrific  blow  on  the  head  before  it  had  given 
tongue  that  it  fell  back  senseless. 

221 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  tepee  he  had  marked  stood  on  rising 
ground  about  midway  one  flank  of  the  camp. 
There  happened  to  be  no  others  between  it  and 
the  trees. 

The  ranchman  stopped  by  the  side  of  it  and 
knelt  down.  He  put  his  ear  against  the  skins  of 
which  it  was  composed  and  listened.  He  could 
hear  deep  breathing  within.  What  it  be- 
tokened he  could  not  say.  He  drew  his  knife  and 
cut  a  slit  and  peered  within.  The  entrance  flap 
in  front  of  the  other  side  happened  to  be  thrown 
back.  The  night  was  warm  and  the  entering  air 
would  be  refreshing  to  the  sleepers.  The  moon- 
light shot  a  beam  into  the  darkness  of  the  tent 
through  the  opening.  By  its  faint  refraction  he 
could  make  out  three  figures  therein.  Two  of 
them  were  sprawled  out  on  the  ground  on  one 
side ;  the  third  lay  in  a  huddle  on  the  other.  All 
three  seemed  to  be  sound  asleep. 

"Was  one  of  them  she?  If  so,  which? 
Which  was  the  Half  Breed?  Who  could  be  the 
other?" 

He  would  have  given  a  year  of  his  life  for 
more  light.  His  was  a  frightful  risk.  Sup- 
pose he  effected  an  entrance  and  woke  the  wrong 

222 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

person!  Suppose  he  made  a  mistake  and  in- 
jured her! 

He  found  himself  plunged  into  a  cold  sweat, 
which  no  fear  for  himself  would  ever  have 
brought  to  the  skin.  He  hesitated,  by  the  side 
of  the  tepee,  but  realizing  that  his  safety  and 
probable  success  depended  upon  celerity,  cau- 
tiously still,  but  swiftly,  he  made  a  long  enough 
slip  to  admit  him  to  creep  through.  Holding 
the  knife  in  one  hand  and  having  swung  his 
revolver  belt  forward  so  he  could  grasp  it 
readily,  his  Winchester  being  swung  across  his 
back,  he  crept  into  the  wigwam.  So  far  having 
made  no  sound  he  had  not  disturbed  the  heavy 
sleep  of  the  inmates. 

Inside  he  could  hear  better  and  see  better 
still.  The  pale  moonlight  outlined  more 
clearly  to  his  staring  eyes  the  three  figures.  To 
the  right  lay  two  men,  to  the  left  a  smaller 
figure,  undoubtedly  a  woman's,  covered  by  a 
blanket.  He  crept  slowly  toward  this  smaller 
figure,  praying  God  that  he  might  be  right  and 
that  it  might  be  she. 

Whoever  she  was,  she  was  lying  on  her  right 
side  with  a  light  blanket  drawn  over  her  face. 

223 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  man,  knife  in  hand,  bent  over  the  figure, 
silently  listening  to  its  regular,  slow  breathing. 
He  must  discover  who  she  was.  He  must  make 
certain. 

There  were  but  two  ways.  He  could  call  her 
name  softly,  or  else  draw  back  the  blanket  and 
strive  to  recognize  her  in  the  darkness.  Which 
should  he  try? 

Thinking  quickly,  he  decided  upon  both 
methods.  Reaching  his  hand  out  he  softly  drew 
the  blanket  aside,  at  the  same  time  saying  in  a 
whisper  close  to  the  woman's  ear, — 

"Amy!" 

It  was  a  woman.  It  was  not  she!  He  had 
just  time  to  draw  back,  when  the  woman,  rising 
on  her  elbow,  saw  his  bulk  in  the  moonlight  and 
cried  out.  There  was  alarm  in  her  voice.  It 
awoke  the  two  men  in  the  tent  to  instant  life. 
They  had  slept  heavily  enough,  but  they  were  as 
easily  aroused.  It  seemed  to  Sullivan  that  they 
were  on  their  feet  at  the  first  outcry. 

Recognizing  that  he  had  failed  to  find  the 
woman  he  loved,  the  ranchman  had  also  sprung 
to  his  feet.  He  happened  to  stand  full  in  the 
moonlight.  The  others  stared  at  him  a  moment, 

224 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

and  then  with  the  instinct  of  fight,  closed  in  on 
him.  One  of  them  was  evidently  the  Half 
Breed,  for  he  called  out  an  oath  in  English. 
Which  one  was  he?  Sullivan  could  not  tell  in 
the  dim  light  and  he  had  little  time  to  ascertain. 
At  any  rate,  the  rancher  struck  the  first  man  full 
and  fair  in  the  breast  with  his  knife.  Driven 
with  terrific  force,  it  sank  to  the  hilt,  and  the 
unfortunate  recipient  of  the  blow  was  hurled  to 
the  ground  stone  dead.  As  the  other  man 
sprang  at  him  out  of  the  darkness,  in  default 
of  another  weapon — for  the  knife  had  been 
wrenched  from  his  hand  by  the  falling  body- 
Sullivan  clenched  his  fist  and  struck  him  a  ter- 
rible blow  on  the  side  of  the  head.  The  second 
man  also  reeled  and  fell.  The  next  instant  the 
ranchman  burst  out  of  the  tepee. 

He  knew  his  way  perfectly.  The  moonlight 
now  gave  him  sufficient  illumination.  He 
dashed  through  the  camp  at  top  speed. 

But  the  struggle  in  the  wrigwam  had  been  no- 
ticed. The  man  he  had  stabbed  was  dead;  the 
man  he  had  struck  was  senseless,  but  the  woman 
was  very  much  alive.  She  filled  the  whole 
camp  with  her  outcries.  Indians  in  a  moment 

225 


THE  WEST  WIND 

were  springing  from  every  tepee.  Sullivan  car- 
omed away  from  one  of  them.  Another  made 
a  snatch  at  him  and  tore  off  his  headdress. 
Glad  to  be  freed  from  the  encumbrance  he  sped 
on.  Some  one  seeing  a  fugitive  rushing  past 
his  tepee,  fired  a  random  shot  at  him.  Instantly 
the  whole  camp  was  in  a  terrific  uproar.  Shots 
were  fired  in  the  darkness,  all  the  dogs  in  the 
camp  ran  wildly  about  barking. 

The  confusion  helped  him.  By  this  time  he 
had  reached  the  outskirts.  To  catch  a  pony  was 
not  difficult.  Selecting  the  biggest  one  he 
found,  he  threw  himself  astride  of  it,  turned  and 
dashed  across  the  stream,  and  headed  for  the 
uplands. 

He  had  made  a  brave  attempt  and  had  failed. 
Nor  was  he  to  get  off  scot  free,  for  he  could  see 
in  the  moonlight  that  there  was  mounting  in  hot 
haste  behind  him  and  that  a  score  of  Indians 
were  preparing  to  hunt  him  down.  If  he  had 
had  a  decent  horse  he  would  have  laughed  their 
endeavors  to  scorn,  but  he  soon  found  that  for- 
tune had  not  been  kind  to  him  in  that  particular, 
and  that  the  pony  he  bestrode  was  in  no  way  up 
to  his  weight. 

226 


IN  THE  WIGWAM 

Well,  the  poor  bronco  would  have  to  go  on  un- 
til he  dropped,  and  when  he  did,  Sullivan  would 
fight  until  he,  too,  dropped.  They  should  never 
get  him  alive  and  they  should  be  made  to  pay 
dearly  for  catching  him  at  all. 

What  difference  did  it  make,  anyway,  since 
Amy  Benham  was  lost  to  him.  The  woman  in 
the  tepee  had  not  been  she.  Where  in  God's 
world  was  she?  What  in  God's  name  had  hap- 
pened to  her? 

With  this  thought  burning  in  his  brains  he 
raced  up  the  hills,  seeking  safety  in  the  uplands. 


227 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

C4TTOW  many  days  have  we  been  here?" 

•*-  -••   asked  the  white  woman. 

For  answer,  the  silent  Mah-wissa  held  up  her 
hand,  the  thumb  bent  inward. 

Amy  Benham  nodded. 

"Four,"  she  said,  mournfully,  "and  in  all  that 
time  we  have  not  seen  or  heard  a  human  being." 

She  stared  in  desperation  over  the  bare  rocks 
and  down  the  sparsely  wooded  valley  as  she 
spoke.  The  solitude  was  unbroken.  There  was 
no  large  game  in  the  valley  and  even  few  bird 
calls  disturbed  the  primeval  silence. 

"I  wonder  if  they  will  ever  find  us?"  she 
asked. 

Mah-wissa  nodded. 

"By  an'  by.     Sojer  come.     Cowboy  come." 

"I  wish  they  might  come  soon,  then,"  re- 
turned the  girl,  "for  if  they  don't  they  won't  find 

228 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

us  alive.  I'm  so  hungry,  and  we  divided  the 
last  piece  of  meat  in  your  pouch  last  night." 

"No,"  said  Mah-wissa.  She  reached  back 
into  a  crevice  of  the  rock  and  drew  forth  sev- 
eral pieces  of  jerked-beef  and  one  small  section 
of  hard  bread.  "I  got  some." 

She  held  it  out  toward  the  white  woman. 

"Mah-wissa!"  exclaimed  Amy  sternly, 
"where  did  you  get  it?" 

Duplicity  was  useless.  The  source  was  too 
patent.  She  had  secreted  her  own  daily  por- 
tion. 

"I  no  hungry.  Sioux  no  eat  like  white  wo- 
man," she  nodded  gravely,  again  proffering  the 
scanty,  wretched  remains  of  food.  "This  for 
you." 

"I  will  not  take  it,"  protested  the  girl  passion- 
ately. "You  have  deprived  yourself  of  your 
share  for  my  sake!  I  will  not  eat  it!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  squaw,  pressing  it  upon  her. 

"No,  I  tell  you,  I  cannot.  It  would  choke 
me!" 

"If  no  take,  I  throw  Vay,"  answered  Mah- 
wissa,  resolutely,  rising  to  her  feet  and  stepping 

229 


THE  WEST  WIND 

toward  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  limping  badly  as 
she  did  so. 

"Will  you  eat  half  of  it  then?"  pleaded  the 
girl,  clutching  her  arm. 

"I  no  hungry,"  repeated  the  brave  squaw 
again. 

"You  are.  You  must  eat,"  said  the  white 
woman,  equally  bravely. 

"No,  no!" 

"Some  of  it  anyway,  half  of  it!"  pleaded  the 
girl. 

But  Mah-wissa  made  no  motion  to  take  any. 

"If  you  don't,"  Amy  ran  on,  as  Mah-wissa 
looked  at  her  stubbornly,  "  I  won't  take  any  my- 
self." 

Will  matched  will  and  resolution  looked  at 
resolution.  The  Indian  at  last  nodded.  She 
apportioned  the  scraps  fairly  enough  and  the 
two  women  fell  upon  them  frantically. 

All  the  food  that  Mah-wissa  had  brought 
with  her  was  thereby  exhausted.  They  had  no 
weapons,  no  means  of  killing  any  game  even  if 
they  chanced  upon  it.  They  had  tried 
making  a  fish  hook  out  of  a  hair  pin,  but  with- 
out success ;  at  least,  they  had  not  caught  any 

230 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

fish.  There  was  plenty  of  water,  fortunately, 
and  save  for  a  ravenous  hunger  they  had  passed 
through  the  adventure  well  enough.  Their 
clothes  were  torn  and  ragged;  their  hands  and 
feet  sore  and  not  yet  healed,  but  these  were 
small  matters.  They  were  facing  a  graver 
problem. 

Again  and  again  had  the  Indian  woman 
urged  the  white  woman  to  leave  her  and  each 
time  had  Amy  Benham  refused.  She  had 
nursed  the  squaw's  ankle  and  cared  for  it  as 
tenderly  as  she  had  nursed  the  squaw's  pappoose 
the  year  before.  Thanks  to  her  skillful  care, 
the  sprain  was  much  better.  Mah-wissa  could 
walk  again,  but  as  yet,  no  great  distance.  She 
could  scarcely  have  attempted  to  cross  the 
mountains  or  to  go  out  of  the  valley.  Nor  could 
Amy  Benham  have  reached  home  alone  for  that 
matter,  although  that  had  not  occurred  to  her 
or  to  her  humble  companion,  with  whom  she 
resolutely  elected  to  stay. 

They  had  found  a  sort  of  cave  in  the  cliffs. 
Bowlders  had  fallen,  split  from  the  precipitous 
wall  until  the  recess  was  almost  completely  hid- 
den. There  was  a  long,  narrow,  winding  en- 

231 


THE  WEST  WIND 

trance  to  it,  like  a  miniature  pass  in  the  moun- 
tains. It  was  dry  within,  save  where  in  one 
corner  a  little  spring  bubbled  out  of  the  rock. 
There  Amy  had  brought  quantities  of  pine 
boughs,  which,  when  covered  with  Mah-wissa's 
tattered  blanket,  had  made  them  at  least  a  better 
bed  than  the  hard  rocks.  It  grew  quite  cold  at 
night,  but  they  lay  close  together  and  did  the 
best  they  could.  They  had  husbanded  their 
poor  amount  of  food  carefully  but  now  it  was 
all  gone. 

They  were  not  at  all  sure  where  they  were. 
The  general  direction,  points  of  the  compass, 
that  is,  they  got  from  the  north  star  at  night  and 
the  sun  in  the  daytime,  but  just  how  far  away 
the  ranch  lay,  or  how  they  could  get  to  it  was 
a  problem.  The  rain  that  had  commenced  to 
fall  the  morning  of  their  arrival  had  been  tor- 
rential in  its  character.  They  imagined  how 
it  might  have  filled  the  canon,  and  Mah-wissa 
thought  that  probably  the  wild  spread  of  the 
vast  volume  of  water,  whose  only  outlet  would 
be  the  river  over  which  they  had  crossed,  had 
probably  made  the  return  trail  in  that  direction 
impracticable. 

232 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

The  valley  they  were  in  was  curious  enough. 
Hunters  and  prospectors  called  such  places 
"Holes,"  or  sometimes,  from  their  narrow  slit- 
like  entrances,  "Holes-in-the-Wall."  The  val- 
ley was  a  long  amphitheater  surrounded  com- 
pletely by  precipitous  mountains.  A  river  fell 
over  the  cliffs  to  the  northward,  some  ten  miles 
away,  and  flowed  gently  across  the  level  bottom, 
its  current  dividing  wherever  it  met  with  an 
obstacle,  forming  many  islands,  until  it  reached 
a  deep  rift  in  the  encircling  cliffs,  through 
which  it  plunged  noisily,  and  then  rapidly 
rushed  its  way  down  the  mountain,  probably 
joining  the  stream  they  had  crossed  in  the 
canon  whence  they  had  come.  They  had 
camped  somewhere  near  .its  mouth. 

There  were  many  such  "Holes"  in  the  moun- 
tains, some  of  them  quite  famous.  Access  to  or 
egress  from  most  of  them  was  over  one  narrow 
trail,  easily  defended  and  blockaded.  That  be- 
ing held,  the  valley  wras  as  safe  as  a  fortress. 
Consequently,  they  were  much  resorted  to  by 
outlaws  and  masterless  men,  and  the  frontier  lore 
is  filled  with  tales  of  such  devils'  strongholds. 

In   this   case,  however,   the   two  women  oc- 

233 


THE  WEST  WIND 

cupied  the  thirty  or  forty  square  miles  enclosed 
apparently  alone.  The  mountains  had  never 
yet  been  fully  explored.  Perhaps  this  hiding 
place  had  never  been  discovered.  It  may  have 
been  thought  unavailable  had  any  one  visited  it, 
because  it  was  not  so  completely  enclosed  as  to 
enable  possible  inhabitants  to  hold  it  easily.  At 
'any  rate,  save  for  them,  it  was  now  empty. 

Amy  had  been  confident  when  they  first 
stopped  there  that  in  a  day  or  two  they  would  be 
found  and  taken  back  in  safety.  She  reasoned 
that  both  Sullivan  and  Kennard  would  be  after 
her.  Her  chief  anxiety  had  been  lest  they 
should  first  be  discovered  by  some  wandering 
Indian  war  party.  She  had  learned  from  Mah- 
wissa  that  the  whole  Sioux  Nation  and  the  al- 
lied Cheyennes  were  on  the  warpath,  but  she 
knew  the  soldiers  would  be  ordered  out  im- 
mediately, and  she  supposed  they  would  sweep 
the  Indians  before  them.  It  never  occurred  to 
her  that  perhaps  the  troops  would  sustain  a 
check  and  the  Indians  would  be  left  in  control 
of  the  region. 

The  two  women  had  passed  the  time  drearily 
enough.  Mah-wissa's  vocabulary  was  limited, 

234 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

and  although  Amy  strove  earnestly  to  improve 
her  English,  to  impart  to  her  ideas  foreign  to 
the  native  of  the  land  and  to  give  her  some  con- 
ception of  religion,  she  could  not  do  that  all  the 
time,  and  there  were  periods  when  the  two 
women  sat  side  by  side  in  the  mouth  of  their 
cave,  forlornly  staring  out  at  the  quiet,  utterly 
desolate  landscape  before  them. 

They  had  been  glad  of  the  rest  the  first  day 
after  the  awful  hardship  and  labor  of  their  es- 
cape, but  thereafter  the  white  woman's  spirit, 
unaccustomed  to  inaction,  chafed  and  fretted 
with  growing  resentment  at  each  succeeding 
period  of  enforced  quiet.  She  had  that  Anglo- 
Saxon  temper  which  would  fain  face  death,  if  it 
must  be  faced,  on  the  feet  and  in  action.  To 
sit  quietly  down  waiting  to  be  stricken  further 
down  was  intolerable. 

They  had  had  abundant  opportunity  for  self- 
communion,  for  Mah-wissa  was  taciturn  as  most 
Indians,  and  spoke  not  at  all  until  she  was  ad- 
dressed. The  girl  had  time,  therefore,  to  go 
over  all  the  terrible  happenings  of  the  last  few 
days.  For  the  first  time  since  his  death,  she 
could  grieve  unrestrainedly  for  her  father. 

235 


THE  WEST  WIND 

Her  mourning  was  deep  and  sincere  and  would 
be  abiding.  Yet  her  own  concerns  and  the 
probabilities  and  the  possibilities  of  her  own  fu- 
ture weighed  so  heavily  on  her  that  they  served 
somewhat  to  mitigate  and  assuage  her  grief. 

She  divided  her  reflections  between  the  past 
and  the  future,  the  future  naturally  encroach- 
ing more  and  more  upon  the  past;  and  to  Cap- 
tain Kennard  she  devoted  most  of  her  thoughts 
—to  him  and  to  Sullivan.  She  wished  ardently 
for  them  both.  She  would  have  been  rejoiced 
beyond  measure  to  see  either,  but  he  whom  her 
soul  craved  was  the  soldier. 

She  sought  to  recall  every  moment  of  their 
two  years  of  pleasant  and  intimate  relationship 
together.  Every  look  that  Kennard  had  given 
her,  every  word  that  he  had  said  to  her,  every 
action  they  had  shared,  every  indication  by 
which  she  had  noted  that  he  loved  her,  she  dwelt 
upon  lovingly.  Why  did  he  not  come? 
Surely,  if  she  had  been  in  his  place,  she  would 
have  found  her  way  to  him  over  mountains 
twice  as  high,  and  through  valleys  twice  as  long. 
Had  she  been  the  soldier  and  he  the  woman, 
nothing  would  have  kept  them  apart  so  long. 

236 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

And  Sullivan  and  the  men  of  the  ranch!  She 
asked  resentfully  and  unsatisfiedly  where  were 
they? 

In  general,  however,  she  did  not  rebel.  Fol- 
lowing the  .common  lot  of  women,  she  prayed 
and  waited.  Waited  with  a  growing  faintness 
of  heart  and  an  increasing  despair  of  soul  as 
each  day  brought  nothing. 

That  morning,  save  for  Mah-wissa's  fore- 
thought and  self-denial,  they  had  been  face  to 
face  with  absolute  starvation.  In  their  weak- 
ened and  wretched  condition  they  might  linger 
two  or  three  days  before  they  died.  If  help  did 
not  come  within  that  time  it  would  be  too  late. 
Well,  there  were  worse  deaths  than  that  which 
confronted  her,  and  she  was  glad  that  she  had 
escaped  them  —  at  least  she  would  die  free. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  morning  when  they 
divided  the  last  morsel  of  food.  As  they  were 
expecting  nothing,  they  were  greatly  surprised 
and  aroused  into  a  state  of  sickening  expecta- 
tion by  hearing  rifle  shots  above  their  heads  and 
off  to  the  northeast.  Their  first  instinct  was  to 
withdraw  further  into  the  burrow  they  had 
found,  but  second  thoughts  told  them  that 

237 


THE  WEST  WIND 

they  should,  if  possible,  learn  what  was  going 
on  seemingly  so  near. 

Mah-wissa  seized  a  stout  stick  Amy  had  found 
for  her  under  the  trees  and  the  two  women 
stepped  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  started  to 
the  northward  and  upward.  The  cliffs  over- 
hung the  place  where  they  stood.  They  could 
see  nothing.  As  they  listened  they  heard  more 
rifle  shots,  and  this  time  apparently  nearer. 

"We.  must  see  what  it  is,"  said  Amy. 

The  Indian  nodded.  Supporting  her,  the 
white  woman  led  the  way  to  a  portion  of 
the  wall  which  jutted  out  into  the  valley. 
Cautiously  peering  around  this,  they  stared  up- 
ward again.  As  they  did  so,  they  heard  another 
series  of  rapid  discharges ,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment a  figure  on  horseback  appeared  on  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  a  man  in  full  Indian  dress,  wearing 
a  war  shirt  but  no  bonnet.  In  his  hands  he 
clasped  a  Winchester,  which  he  had  apparently 
just  discharged.  He  had  halted  his  exhausted 
pony  on  the  very  brink  of  the  precipice.  He 
could  go  no  farther. 

Listening  and  looking,  the  two  women  heard 
wild  calls  faintly,  and  more  shots.  These  de- 

238 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

cided  the  solitary  horseman  upon  action.  The 
cliff  bent  away  in  a  great  half  circle  from  the 
point  at  which  the  women  stood  so  that  they 
could  see  what  he  was  doing.  He  got  off  his 
horse  quickly  and  stepped  to  the  very  edge  of 
the  sheer  descent.  He  looked  down  a  moment. 
Evidently  he  intended  to  make  an  effort  to  es- 
cape that  way.  To  the  watching  women  it 
seemed  utterly  beyond  human  possibility  that  he 
could  do  it.  Speculations  as  to  who  he  was,  and 
why  he  was  so  desperately  anxious  to  escape 
were  lost  for  the  moment  in  the  frightful  pos- 
sibilities of  his  endeavor. 

Sheltering  himself  behind  the  body  of  the 
horse,  which  evidently  was  so  utterly  exhausted 
as  scarcely  to  be  able  to  move,  the  man  loaded 
his  rifle,  brought  it  to  his  shoulder  and  pumped 
a  half  dozen  shots  in  quick  succession  out  of  it. 
His  discharge  was  answered  by  a  return  volley 
and  by  a  wild  outbreak  of  demoniac  yells.  He 
did  not  wait  any  longer.  He  turned  and  let 
himself  down  over  the  cliff,  facing  inward.  He 
hung  at  full  length  for  a  second  and  then  let  go. 
The  women  held  their  breath  as  they  watched 
him  fall. 

239 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Great  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Amy,  "he  will 
be  dashed  to  pieces." 

But  they  were  unable  to  see  certain  inequali- 
ties in  the  surface  which  looked  so  sheer,  for 
sliding  down  the  face  of  the  cliff  which  here 
sloped  inward  a  little  as  it  fell  away,  the  fugi- 
tive brought  up  against  a  narrow  ledge  which 
had  been  his  goal  when  he  let  go.  He  struck 
the  ledge  with  shocking  force,  the  distance  was 
so  great.  For  a  moment  his  body  bent  and 
swayed,  and  the  watchers  thought  he  would 
pitch  over,  but  his  hands,  which  had  been 
clutching  the  rock,  caught  in  some  crevice. 
Evidently  he  had  saved  himself.  He  shook  and 
trembled  but  steadied  himself  and  finally  stood 
secure.  He  did  not  dare  to  pause  for  rest,  it 
seemed,  for  he  took  a  few  careful  yet  rapid  steps, 
creeping  sidewise,  until  he  found  another  ledge 
to  which  he  dropped  again. 

Again  and  again  he  repeated  the  process. 
He  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life.  That  the 
descent  could  be  made  by  human  being  without 
a  dozen  falls,  if  one  body  could  stand  so  many, 
was  well  nigh  unthinkable. 

Finally  he  reached  the  last  ledge — a  broader 
240 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

streak  of  rock  than  the  others.  There  was 
nothing  below  him  but  a  sheer  drop  of  perhaps 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  and  broken  rock  at  the 
base  of  the  cliff  to  receive  his  fall.  He  had 
lost  his  rifle  in  the  descent,  having  been  com- 
pelled to  use  both  of  his  hands  to  save  his  life, 
and  it  had  clattered  to  the  rocks  beneath  after 
the  first  slide  down  the  cliff. 

Moved  by  some  impulse,  Amy  Benham,  re- 
gardless of  consequences,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  rocks  cut  through  the  ragged  remains  of  her 
moccasins  and  the  tattered  bandages  made  from 
the  blanket,  stepped  swiftly  out  into  the  open 
and  secured  the  rifle  just  as  the  man  got 
cautiously  down  to  his  knees  on  the  last  ledge, 
and  then  with  one  desperate  resolution,  thrust 
himself  backward  and  fell. 

Before  he  struck  the  ground,  the  white  wo- 
man, who  had  regained  her  place  of  watchful- 
ness, had  covered  him.  The  shot  would  be 
an  easy  one;  if  he  proved  an  enemy  his  life 
would  be  forfeit.  The  man,  however,  lay 
where  he  had  fallen.  The  huge  bulk  of  his 
body  was  between  the  girl's  and  his  face,  which 
pointed  to  the  northward.  He  had  been 

241 


THE  WEST  WIND 

stunned  or  perhaps  killed  by  the  last  downward 
plunge. 

"Me  go,"  whispered  Mah-wissa,  lifting  the 
knife  she  still  carried. 

Her  meaning  was  obvious.  She  would  kill 
him  as  she  had  killed  the  Indian  in  the  pass  and 
with  as  little  compunction  of  conscience. 

" Wait !"  said  the  wiser  white  woman.  "We 
don't  know  who  is  the  man  or  why  he  is  here. 
Perhaps  he  is  a  soldier." 

"Look!"  interposed  the  Indian  woman,  touch- 
ing her  elbow. 

Following  Mah-wissa's  upturned  glance, 
Amy  Benham  stared  at  the  top  of  the  cliff,  whose 
edge  was  now  peopled  with  figures.  There 
could  be  no  possible  mistake  as  to  their  char- 
acter. They  were  Indians!  The  foremost 
among  them  was  a  man  whom  the  white  woman 
would  have  recognized  anywhere,  almost  at  any 
distance,  the  Half  Breed.  Her  blood  ran  cold 
at  the  sight  of  him.  She  shrank  back  behind 
the  point,  dragging  Mah-wissa  with  her  in  her 
intensity  of  fear. 

The  Indians  dropped  from  their  ponies  and 
peered  over  the  cliff.  They  could  see  lying  on 

242 


IN  THE  "HOLE-IN-THE-WALL" 

the  broken  rock  beneath  them  the  prostrate  fig- 
ure of  him  they  had  been  pursuing.  The  fugi- 
tive did  not  stir.  He  lay  as  one  dead.  Perhaps 
he  was  dead.  There  was  an  animated  discus- 
sion at  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  suddenly  some 
of  the  Indians  raised  their  guns. 

"They  are  going  to  shoot  him,"  whispered 
Amy  to  Mah-wissa,  both  peering  cautiously 
from  their  place  of  concealment.  "Who  can 
he  be?" 

There  was  something  familiar  about  the  huge 
bulk  of  the  man.  She  had  not  seen  his  face 
clearly;  the  light  had  been  behind  him,  but— 

Her  speculations  were  shattered  by  a  crashing 
volley.  They  could  see  the  rocks  break  and 
splinter  all  about  the  body  of  the  fugitive.  He 
must  have  been  struck,  for  he  rose  unsteadily  to 
his  feet,  fumbling  for  his  revolver,  drew  it,  but 
before  he  could  press  the  trigger,  a  bullet  struck 
it  and  threw  it  far  from  his  hand.  Blood  was 
streaming  from  his  face.  He  was  a  terrible 
looking  figure,  but  he  had  evidently  recovered 
his  faculties,  for  as  the  smoke  blew  away  and 
he  saw  the  Indians  aiming  at  him  again,  he 
plunged  forward  on  his  knees  and  crawled 

243 


THE  WEST  WIND 

against  the  face  of  the  rock,  where  he  was  com- 
pletely sheltered  from  above.  As  he  did  so  he 
faced  the  spot  where  the  two  women  were  hid- 
ing. 


244 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DROPPED   FROM  THE  SKY 

"TVTERCIFUL  Godl"  whispered  Amy to 

-LVA  the  Indian  woman,  "it's  Sullivan." 

She  lifted  the  rifle  as  if  about  to  step  forward 
and  fire  at  the  Indians  in  his  defense. 

"No,"  said  the  squaw  earnestly,  dragging  her 
back,  "they  go.  We  get  him  by  and  by.  Me 
look." 

She  got  down  on  her  knees  and  peered  north- 
ward. A  thin  crevice  in  the  rock  gave  her  sight 
and  yet  hid  her  face  as  she  stared  and  stared, 
the  white  girl  meanwhile  standing  back  of  her, 
well  out  of  view,  desperately  clutching  the  rifle. 

How  did  Sullivan  come  there  and  in  that 
guise?  What  had  happened?  She  had  prayed 
for  his  coming,  or  for  Kennard's,  as  for  a  pre- 
server, and  lo!  he  appeared  before  her  like  a 
hare  that  is  hunted.  And  the  Half  Breed  was 
triumphantly  leading  the  party  that  hounded 
him  on. 

245 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"They  gone,"  whispered  Mah-wissa  at  last. 

"Let  us  go  and  get  him  then,"  answered  Amy. 

"Wait.  Maybe  come  back,"  objected  the 
squaw  with  all  the  caution  of  her  race. 

Indeed  it  was  only  by  the-  exercise  of  her 
greater  strength  that  the  Indian  woman  kept  the 
white  woman  where  she  was  until  she  thought 
it  safe.  Presently,  however,  she  released  her 
and  Amy  instantly  darted  out  into  the  open  and 
around  to  the  side  of  the  prostrate  man.  More 
slowly  Mah-wissa  followed  her. 

He  was  lying  with  his  eyes  closed.  Over  his 
face  spread  a  death-like  pallor.  The  fingers  of 
his  left  hand  were  torn  and  bruised  and  one  on 
his  right  hand  had  been  crushed  by  the  bullet 
that  had  torn  his  revolver  from  his  grasp.  His 
clothing  was  torn  to  pieces  by  his  slide  down  the 
cliff.  His  broad  chest  was  cut,  torn  and  bleed- 
ing. A  bullet  had  apparently  gone  through 
his  shoulder,  for  his  left  arm  was  soaked  with 
blood.  He  was  in  a  desperate  condition.  So 
noiseless  had  been  the  girl's  swift  approach  that 
he  was  not  aware  of  it  until  she  spoke  his  name. 

"Sullivan!"  she  cried. 
246 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 

"Amy!"  gasped  out  the  man,  opening  his  eyes 
in  astonishment,  "you  are  here  and  safe?" 

She  nodded. 

"^hank  God!" 

"But  you?"  asked  the  girl,  "what  has  hap- 
pened to  you?" 

"I  thought  I  was  done  for,"  he  replied 
thickly,  "but  you  give  me  new  lease  of  life.  I 
am  worth  a  thousand  dead  men  now.  Is  there 
water?" 

By  this  time  Mah-wissa  had  joined  them. 

"Who  is  this?"  exclaimed  the  ranchman  sus- 
piciously. 

But  Mah-wissa  gave  no  time  to  answer.  She 
pointed  upward. 

"Look!"  she  cried  in  an  alarmed  voice. 

Amy  Benham  glanced  upward.  Peering 
over  the  brink  a  short  distance  away  was  the 
feathered  head  of  an  Indian.  He  stared  down 
at  the  two  women.  His  rifle  was  in  his  hand 
but  he  made  no  effort  to  use  it.  The  Half 
Breed  had  indeed  retired  but  he  had  left  a 
watcher  to  make  sure  that  the  man  was  dead,  or 
to  get  him  in  case  he  came  from  the  shelter  of 

247 


THE  WEST  WIND 

the  rock.     The  squaw  realized  at  once  what  a 
misfortune  this  discovery  was. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Sullivan,  who  could  see 
nothing. 

"There  is  an  Indian  up  there,"  answered  the 
girl. 

"My  God!"  groaned  the  poor  man,  "have  I 
brought  them  all  down  upon  you?" 

He  also  knew  exactly  what  discovery  by  the 
Half  Breed's  party  would  mean  to  the  poor  girl, 
so  far  having  escaped  him. 

"We  can't  think  of  that  now,"  said  Amy,  with 
a  certain  amount  of  indifference.  "They  may 
be  there.  They  are  not  here.  There  are  not 
many  men  on  this  earth  who  could  get  down  that 
cliff  as  you  did!" 

"Did  you  see?" 

"We  watched  you.  We  saw  it  all.  It  was 
magnificent.  We  didn't  know  who  it  was  until 
you — " 

"What  do  now?"  interposed  the  more  prac- 
tical minded  squaw  at  this  juncture. 

"We  must  get  away  from  here,"  said  Sul- 
livan ;  "if  we  only  had  a  pony." 

248 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 

"We  have  found  a  sort  of  cave  beyond  the 
point  yonder.  We  will  take  you  there." 

"You  will  have  to  help  me,"  was  the  reply, 
"I  am  terribly  bruised  and  cut,  and  one  of  those 
fiend's  bullets  has  gone  through  my  shoulder. 
If  I  only  had  some  water." 

"You  watch  by  him,  Mah-wissa,"  said  Amy. 

She  stepped  out  into  the  open,  reckless  of  a 
possible  shot  from  the  Indian  still  watching 
them  curiously  and  eagerly,  ran  around  the 
promontory  and  back  to  the  cave.  Mah-wissa's 
canteen  full  of  water  lay  on  a  rock  shelf;  she 
seized  it,  ran  back  quickly  and  put  it  to  the 
ranchman's  lips.  Sullivan  almost  drained  it. 

"That  puts  new  life  into  me,"  he  said  with  a 
stronger  voice.  "This  is  the  first  drop  of  water 
I  have  had  since  ten  o'clock  last  night.  God! 
it  was  a  fearful  race.  Now  help  me  up." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  weak,  that 
his  right  hand  was  bleeding,  that  he  had  a  bullet 
through  his  shoulder,  that  two  of  his  ribs  were 
broken,  and  that  his  chest  was  half  flayed,  the 
man  by  a  magnificent  exercise  of  nerve  and 
courage,  lifted  himself  to  his  knees,  and  with 

249 


THE  WEST  WIND 

the  woman  he  loved  supporting  him,  he  finally 
arose  to  his  feet.  He  swayed  heavily  for  the 
moment,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  her. 

"He  shoot  now,"  cried  Mah-wissa  warningly. 

She  had  observed  the  Indian  above  raising 
his  rifle. 

"We'll  have  to  chance  it,"  said  Sullivan 
thickly.  "You  go  in  front  of  me,  Miss  Amy." 

"No,"  was  the  reply,  "side  by  side.  You  first, 
Mah-wissa." 

And  so  the  three — a  brave  little  Indian  squaw, 
a  ragged,  tattered,  worn-out  but  indomitable 
American  girl,  and  the  big  rancher,  shot,  cut 
and  torn  to  pieces — started  out  into  the  open. 

Sure  enough,  the  Indian  fired,  not  once  but 
twice  before  they  could  turn  the  promontory. 
His  bullets  fortunately  missed.  One  of  them 
plowed  through  the  tattered  sleeve  of  the 
white  woman's  waist.  The  other  was  flattened 
harmlessly  against  a  rock  behind  them. 

"It  is  a  good  thing  for  us  that  they  are  always 
such  poor  shots,"  said  the  cattleman  gratefully. 

The  next  moment  they  rounded  the 
promontory  and  were  out  of  sight  of  the 
watcher.  A  few  painful  steps  brought  them  to 

250 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 

the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Guided  and  supported 
by  Amy  Benham,  the  cattleman  followed  Mah- 
wissa  into  the  recess. 

When  the  Indian  at  last  reached  the 
promontory — he  had  a  wide  spread  of  country 
to  traverse  owing  to  the  configuration  of  the 
valley  wall — they  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He 
searched  the  place  with  his  glances  and  then 
suddenly  withdrew. 

"A  fine  place  for  defense,"  said  the  cattleman, 
alert  to  the  probable  requirements  of  the  situa- 
tion. "What  food  have  you?" 

"None!" 

"There  is  a  piece  of  jerked-beef  in  my  pouch," 
he  said,  "or  there  was  when  I  put  it  en.  It 
should  be  hanging  at  my  belt." 

"It  is  not  there,"  said  Amy  after  a  brief  in- 
spection. 

"It  must  have  been  torn  off  when  I  fell  down 
the  cliff." 

"Me  get,"  said  Mah-wissa,  slipping  out 
through  the  entrance. 

"Have  you  any  water?" 

"Plenty,"  was  the  answer.  "There  is  a  spring 
on  the  other  side." 

251 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Help  me  over  to  it  then,  and  I  will  try  and 
get  myself  in  shape." 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  "I  am  going  to  do  that." 

"You  Ve  got  nothing  for  bandages." 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer. 

She  turned  away  for  a  little  space  and  came 
back  with  several  long  strips  of  soiled  white 
fabric. 

"The  remainder  of  my  skirt,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing faintly. 

She  had  filled  the  canteen  also.  She  knelt 
down  beside  him  and  washed  the  poor  shat- 
tered fingers  as  well  as  she  could  and  bound 
them  up  tenderly. 

"Now  the  shoulder,"  she  said,  when  she  had 
finished  the  first  task. 

Fortunately  the  wound  was  not  a  serious  one. 
The  bullet  .had  gone  clear  through  the  fleshy 
part  of  the  shoulder,  which  had  probably  saved 
his  life,  for  he  had  been  in  a  dead  faint  and  the 
pain  of  the  wound  had  recalled  him  to  con- 
sciousness in  time  for  him  to  crawl  under  the 
overhang  where  he  was  protected  from  their 
dropping  shots.  As  luck  would  have  it,  the 
wound  was  also  a  clean  one  and  there  was  little 

252 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 

to  be  done  but  wash  it  and  then  make  such 
bandages  for  it  as  she  could.  Then,  with  the 
last  remaining  piece  of  the  skirt  she  washed  his 
face  free  from  blood  that  had  matted  upon  it, 
and  tied  up  his  hand.  She  even  washed  the 
blood  and  dirt  from  his  mighty  chest.  There 
was  nothing  she  could  do  for  his  broken  ribs,  of 
course. 

He  bore  the  pain  of  her  manipulations  with- 
out a  murmur  and  with  the  stoic  resolution  of 
an  Indian  himself.  His  courage  even  evoked 
a  grunt  of  approval  from  the  squaw,  who  had 
come  back  unharmed  with  the  precious  pouch 
in  her  hand  and  who  lent  such  assistance  as  she 
could. 

When  it  was  all  over,  and  Amy  had  done  what 
she  could  for  him,  she  sank  down  on  the  rocky 
bottom  of  the  recess  by  his  side  and  fought 
desperately  against  an  overwhelming  inclination 
to  faint  away. 

"When  have  you  had  anything  to  eat?"  asked 
Sullivan,  assuming,  as  by  right,  command  of  the 
situation  as  soon  as  everything  had  been  done 
for  him. 

"This  morning." 

253 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Well,"  he  felt  in  the  pouch  with  his  left 
hand,  "the  piece  of  jerked-beef  is  there  all  right. 
We  'd  better  keep  it  until  tomorrow  if  you  can 
stand  it  that  long." 

"I  can  stand  anything  now  that  you  are  here," 
said  Amy  bravely.  "I  feel  so  much  more  con- 
fident since  — : 

Sullivan  raised  his  hand. 

"I  'm  afraid  that  I  have  only  brought  them 
down  upon  you.  There  must  be  some  way  into 
this  valley.  You  got  into  it.  They  must  know 
how  to  get  here.  I  killed  one  man  in  the  Half 
Breed's  wigwam,  hunting  for  you,  and  he  will 
never  leave  my  trail  until  he  gets  me  or  I  get 
him.  They  will  be  here  before  the  day  is  out. 
What  weapons  have  you?" 

"Nothing." 

"Me  got  knife,"  said  Mah-wissa,  showing  her 
formidable  weapon. 

"What  else?" 

"I  forgot  your  Winchester,"  responded  Amy, 
handing  the  gun  to  him.  "When  I  saw  you  slip 
down  the  cliff  I  thought  you  might  be  an  Indian 
fleeing  from  the  soldiers,  and  as  it  fell  near  us,  I 
ran  out  and  seized  it." 

254 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 

"Let  me  have  it." 

Sullivan  took,  examined  it  carefully,  and  laid 
it  aside. 

"The  ejector  is  broken,"  he  ?aid  bitterly. 
"It 's  useless.  The  lock  is  smashed.  It  can't  be 
fired  again." 

"And  your  revolver?" 

"Smashed,  too,  when  these  fingers  got  it,"  was 
the  reply. 

"We  are  indeed  helpless,  then,"  said  the  girl, 
despondently. 

"Not  so  long  as  I  can  stand  in  that  narrow 
way,"  answered  Sullivan,  grimly. 

"But  you  have  no  firearms!" 

"I  can  use  the  gun  as  a  club." 

"But  you  can't  beat  them  off  forever  with 
that." 

"No,"  said  the  man.  "I  can't,  but  I  can  give 
you  time  enough  to  die,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  looking  him  bravely  in 
the  face. 

"And  with  Mah-wissa's  knife,"  continued  the 
cattleman. 

"I  understand" 

255 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"I  don't  know  how  you  escaped,"  Sullivan 
ran  on,  "but  you  are — unharmed?" 

There  was  a  fiercely  anxious  note  of  appre- 
hension in  the  question. 

"Entirely." 

"Thank  God!"  was  the  fervent  reply. 

"It  is  all  due  to  Him  and  to  my  good  Mah- 
wissa,"  said  the  girl,  gratefully. 

"Well,  you  can't  tempt  Providence  again," 
the  rancher  continued,  his  great  relief  plainly 
apparent.  "You  must  never  give  them  another 
chance.  I  will  fight  for  you  until — I  am  down 
and  out — and  then  you  must  do  the  rest." 

"Trust  me,"  said  the  girl. 

"You  understand  what  I  mean?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"I  understand,"  she  answered  softly,  yet  with 
eyes  shining  with  resolution. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Sullivan  in  deep  satisfac- 
tion. 

The  girl  smiled  at  him  and  laid  her  cool  hand 
upon  his  fevered  head. 

"Do  try  and  get  some  rest,"  she  urged. 

"It  is  a  strange  meeting,"  said  the  cattleman, 
who  would  evidently  much  rather  talk  to  her, 

256 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 

"and  this  is  a  strange  time  to  tell  you,  but  ever 
since  I  knew  you  I  have  loved  you!  It  was  you 
who  kept  me  on  the  ranch.  It  was  the  thought 
of  seeing  you  in  the  summer  time  when  you 
came  back,  that  made  me  stay  there  in  the  long 
winter  and  wait.  For  you  I  gave  up  my  roving 
life  and  spendthrift  ways  and  began  to  save 
money.  I  was  planning  to  tell  you  that  I  loved 
you,  and  to  ask  you — to  give  you  a  chance  of  say- 
ing that  you  could  not  be  my  wife." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"My  dear  friend  for  whom  I  care  so  much," 
she  said  tenderly,  "don't  ask  me  that  I" 

"I  am  not  asking  you,"  was  the  answer. 
"I  'm  just  telling  you.  We  are  never  going  to 
get  out  of  this  alive,  and  there  is  no  need  of  your 
making  any  reply.  The  soldier  man — he  loves 
you,  too,"  he  added,  with  great-hearted  mag- 
nanimity. 

"Does  he?"  choked  the  girl  through  her  tears, 
and  yet  glad  at  heart  for  the  assurance. 

"Yes,"  said  the  cattleman;  "he  told  me  in  the 
canon  yonder.  We  were  both  on  your  trail. 
We  found  your  slippers." 

The  woman  nodded. 

257 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"He  gave  me  one  and  kept  one  himself. 
Mine's  gone.  I  must  have  lost  mine  coming 
down  the  wall.  I  kept  it  in  the  pocket  of  my 
hunting  shirt,  over  my  heart.  He  loves  you,  too. 
I  called  him  a  coward  but  he  is  a  good  and  a 
brave  man." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "and  you  are  a  brave  man, 


too." 


"You  could  n't  have  loved  both  of  us  if  you 
had  got  away,"  continued  the  cattleman  gravely. 
"Tell  me,  honestly,  is  he  the  one  you  would  give 
yourself  to  if  we  both  asked  you?" 

"Sullivan,"  she  said  faintly,  hard  put  to  it  by 
his  searching  questions  but  determining  to  be 
true,  "I  cannot  lie  to  you  in  the  presence  of 
death.  Love  is  a  strange  thing.  I  have  known 
you  for  many  years.  You  have  been  so  good  to 
me  and  I  do  love  you,  but  not  that  way.  He — " 

"Never  mind,"  interposed  Sullivan,  gently, 
as  the  woman  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
burst  into  a  fit  of  passionate  weeping.  He 
patted  her  softly  on  her  bowed  head  with  his 
left  hand,  although  it  gave  him  pain  to  raise  his 
arm.  "Never  mind,"  he  murmured,  "I  make 
no  doubt  he  is  the  better  man." 

258 


DROPPED  FROM  THE  SKY 
"It  is  not  that,"  said  the  girl;  "I  cannot  help 


it." 


"No  more  you  can't,  Miss  Amy.  We  can't 
any  of  us  help  it,"  he  assented. 

"And  I  'd  rather  die  than  hurt  your  feelings 
now,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  him. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said  firmly.  "I  am  here 
to  help  you  as  much  as  I  can;  to  give  my  last 
breath  for  you;  to  die  for  you;  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  die  yourself,  if  need  be.  And  this 
makes  it  easier,  too.  I  heard  a  preacher  say 
once  that  people  like  you  ought  to  live  and  die 
—unspotted  from  the  world.  Those  were  his 
words,  I  think." 

Amy  Benham  crept  near  to  the  big  man,  who 
was  sitting  up,  leaning  against  the  rocky  wall 
of  the  cave.  She  reached  over  and  took  his 
poor  wounded  hand  gently  in  her  own,  bent 
down  and  pressed  a -kiss  upon  it. 

"Well,"  said  Sullivan,  staring  straight  ahead 
of  him  down  the  narrow  way  to  the  cave, 
"they  '11  have  a  hard  battle  with  me  before  they 
get  to  where  you  are,  Miss  Amy." 


259 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  ROUGH  RIDERS  OF  THE  WEST 

THE  night  of  the  drawn  battle  between  the 
soldiers  of  Wainwright's  command  and 
Roman  Nose's  detachment  of  Indians,  the  ex- 
pected company  of  civilian  scouts  reported  at 
camp.  There  were  some  twenty  cowboys  from 
the  Benham  ranch,  led  by  old  Johnson,  and 
thirty  other  good  men,  gathered  from  the  near- 
est of  the  frontier  settlements.  Every  man 
brought  his  own  horse  and  arms.  They  were 
splendidly  mounted  for  they  had  the  pick  of  the 
horses  of  the  country  to  choose  from.  Each  man 
carried  a  Winchester  and  a  Colt's  .45.  A 
blanket  and  a  pair  of  saddlebags  for  provisions 
and  a  cartridge  belt  jammed  full  of  ammunition 
completed  their  equipment.  They  rode  light, 
had  no  other  baggage  and  carried  no  tents. 
They  were  hardy  men,  accustomed  to  the  fron- 
tier, chosen  for  their  ability  to  ride  hard,  shoot 

260 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

straight,  to  fight  anything,  to  disdain  any  odds, 
and  to  endure  to  the  end. 

Among  them  were  some  men  of  prominence 
who  had  agreed  to  serve  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 
A  few  were  college  men.  Some  were  old  soldiers, 
but  the  main  body  was  made  up  of  experienced 
frontiersmen.  Such  a  body  of  rough  riders 
had  probably  never  before  assembled.  Rightly 
led  and  judiciously  handled,  there  was  no  end 
to  what  they  could  do.  Sullivan  would  have 
made  an  ideal  commander  for  them,  but  he  was 
still  absent  and  unaccounted  for.  Through 
Johnson  as  spokesman,  their  demand  of  the 
Colonel  had  been  for  him.  Their  disappoint- 
ment that  he  was  not  with  the  command  was  un- 
mistakable. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Colonel,  fully  sym- 
pathizing but  rejoicing  at  the  chance  he  had  at 
getting  them  under  a  regular  soldier  like  Ken- 
nard,  "I  regret  it  as  much  as  you.  He  left  Cap- 
tain Kennard's  troop  in  a  canon  yonder,  de- 
termined to  try  single-handed  to  effect  the  rescue 
of  Miss  Benham,  whom  he  believed  to  be  in  a 
village  which  he  had  discovered." 

261 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Was  he  left  behind  by  the  soldiers,  de- 
serted?" asked  one  of  the  men,  threatening. 

"By  no  means.  He  stayed  voluntarily  after 
I  had  ordered  the  troop  to  return  because  I  was 
convinced  of  what  afterwards  developed,  that  an 
ambuscade  had  been  laid  for  them.  Indeed, 
had  they  gone  farther  they  would  have  gone  to 
their  utter  extermination." 

"Who  commanded  the  troops?" 

"I  did,"  said  Kennard,  stepping  into  the  fire- 
light, "and  it  is  just  as  Colonel  Wainwright  says. 
I  would  have  gone  on  gladly  and  risked  my  life  to 
rescue  Miss  Benham,  although  we  had  no  cer- 
tain knowledge  that  she  was  in  the  village,  only 
a  probability,  or  perhaps  better  only  a  possibility, 
but  my  orders  were  imperative.  I  had  no  op- 
tion. And  as  the  Colonel  has  said,  we  had 
scarcely  begun  to  retrace  our  steps  before  the 
danger  he  feared  developed.  If  he  had  not 
brought  the  rest  of  the  regiment  to  our  rescue, 
neither  I  nor  any  man  in  that  canon  would  ever 
have  got  out  of  it  to  tell  the  tale." 

"And  what  became  of  Big  Sullivan?" 

"I  do  not  know.  He  is  a  brave  man  and  a 
skillful  one.  And  the  Indians  were  busy  with 

262 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

us.  They  probably  did  not  observe  him.  I 
have  an  idea  that  he  lay  hidden  in  the  canon  un- 
til nightfall  and  then  did  what  he  could.  What 
that  might  be,  or  where  he  is,  or  what  he  is  do- 
ing, I  cannot  tell." 

"Could  we  ride  after  him?" 

"Not  if  you  entered  the  service  of  the  United 
States.  And  in  any  case  it  would  be  of  no  use. 
You  would  ride  to  certain  death  and  effect  noth- 
ing," said  Colonel  Wainwright  firmly.  "Gen- 
tlemen, I  shall  not  disguise  from  you,"  he  went 
on  with  growing  emphasis,  "that  so  soon  as  you 
are  regularly  enlisted  as  civilian  scouts  in  the 
Government  service,  you  will  have  to  obey  orders 
explicitly.  I  do  not  expect  from  you  the  drill- 
ing and  the  maneuvering  of  regularly  trained 
soldiers,  but  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  co- 
operate with  us  except  on  the  ground  of  instant 
and  unquestioned  obedience  to  every  command 
that  may  be  given  you  by  proper  authority." 

"Under  whose  command  do  you  propose  to 
place  us?"  asked  one  of  the  old  soldiers  who 
fortunately  leavened  the  band. 

"I  wish  to  consult  you  about  that,  of  course. 
But  if  I  am  allowed  to  decide  that  question,  I 

263 


THE  WEST  WIND 

shall  put  you  under  Captain  Kennard  here.  He 
is  one  of  the  most  experienced  Indian  fighters  in 
my  regiment.  He  was  wounded  in  the  Big 
Horn  Mountains  several  years  ago  and  got  a 
medal  of  honor  for  his  daring  and  courage.  His 
own  troop  has  been  badly  cut  up  and — " 

"I  should  be  glad,"  deftly  interposed  Ken- 
nard, as  the  Colonel  paused,  unwilling  to  dilate 
upon  the  mutinous  spirit  which  had  disgusted 
Kennard  with  his  men,  "I  should  be  honored  to 
have  the  command  of  such  a  body  of  men  as  you 
are.  The  Colonel  has  promised,  in  case  you  ac- 
cept me,  that  we  shall  be  detached  from  the  regi- 
ment which  is  to  remain  here  until  heavily 
reinforced  and  that  we  shall  have  a  roving  com- 
mission, first  starting  to  the  westward  across  the 
range,  where  we  think  Roman  Nose  has  led  his 
men  to  join  Crazy  Horse  to  pile  up  on  General 
Crook.  We  are  to  observe  them,  cut  off  the  de- 
tached parties  if  we  can,  and  cover  the  settle- 
ments to  the  southward.  I  promise  you  hard 
riding  and  plenty  of  fighting  in  the  end." 

"I  see,"  said  a  new  and  youthful  speaker  from 
among  the  men;  "we  are  to  be  free  lances  as  it 


were." 


264 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

"Exactly,  but  not  too  free,  be  it  understood. 
You  heard,"  Kennard  continued,  resolved  to  be 
absolutely  frank,  "what  the  Colonel  said  about 
obedience  to  orders.  We  shall  be,  if  I  am  hon- 
ored by  your  choice,  a  body  of  friends,  I  am  sure, 
but  the  directing  must  be  mine.  Absolutely. 
Now,  then,  gentlemen,  what  do  you  say?" 

"I  'm  for  Captain  Kennard,"  said  old  John- 
son instantly;  "I  know  him." 

"I  'm  agreeable,"  broke  from  one  of  the  other 
men. 

"Wait!"  said  Captain  Kennard,  again  inter- 
posing and  determined  to  play  fair.  "Some  of 
you  come  from  Colonel  Benham's  ranch.  You 
know  that  Sullivan  and  I  are  both  in  love  with 
Miss  Benham,  and  both  would  have  sought  to 
marry  her.  It  is  rather  unusual  to  say  such 
things  to  a  body  of  men,  but  I  am  determined  to 
be  entirely  open  with  you.  Sullivan  and  I  had 
words  this  morning  because  I  insisted  upon 
obeying  orders,  and  it  ended  by  his  stigmatizing 
me  and  my  command,  when  we  turned  back 
from  the  village,  as  cowards!" 

"And  did  you  take  that?"  asked  a  frontiers- 
man curiously. 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"I  did,"  returned  the  other,  although  what  it 
cost  him  to  make  the  admission  could  scarcely 
be  realized.  "I  was  under  orders.  I  could  not 
engage  in  private  quarrels  then.  I  had  to  obey. 
I  will  settle  with  Sullivan  later  on,  although  I 
will  admit  that  looking  at  things  from  his  point 
of  view  there  was  some  reason  for  his  bitterness ; 
but  you  understand  now  what  obedience  means 
to  me,  and  what  it  will  have  to  mean  to  you." 

"I  know  Joe  Kennard,"  burst  out  Chambers, 
a  young  frontier  attorney  from  the  county  seat 
who  had  joined  the  scouts  for  the  fun  of  it,  as 
he  phrased  it.  "I  Ve  known  him  for  years. 
There  is  n't  a  drop  of  coward's  blood  in  his  veins. 
I  am  glad  to  go  with  a  man  who  knows  his  duty 
and  will  sacrifice  his  reputation  even  to  it." 

"Thank  you,  Chambers,"  said  Kennard. 
"Meanwhile,  what  do  the  rest  of  these  gentle- 
men say?" 

"I  'm  a  friend  of  Sullivan's,"  spoke  out  old 
Johnson ;  "I  know  how  hot-blooded  he  is,  an'  how 
he  feels  about  Miss  Benham,  which  I  hopes  he 
wins  her  instead  of  you,  Cap'n,  but  the  field  is 
open,  an'  the  best  man  '11  git  her,  fair  an'  square, 
I  'm  certain.  I  'm  in  hopes  if  we  do  come  up 

266 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

with  the  Boss,  gents  all,  I  can  make  it  all  right 
twixt  him  an'  the  Cap'n,  an'  as  far  as  I  'm  con- 
cerned, I  'm  willing  to  serve  under  him.  What 
do  you  say,  boys?" 

He  listened  a  moment  to  the  various  words  of 
approval  and  then  suddenly  called  out, 

"All  those  in  favor,  say  aye!" 

A  roar  of  affirmation  broke  on  the  night  air. 

"Thank  you,  men,"  said  the  Colonel,  now  en- 
tering the  conversation  again.  "That  is  hardly 
enough,  however.  There  may  be  some  man 
who  has  not  answered.  All  those  willing  to  ac- 
cept Captain  Kennard  for  their  commander, 
and  enter  the  service  of  the  United  States  for  this 
campaign,  or  until  discharged  by  proper  au- 
thority, will  pass  around  to  the  right." 

There  was  a  tumultuous  crowding  of  horses, 
and  in  a  short  time  the  whole  body  of  men  had 
arranged  itself  in  some  sort  of  order  to  the  right 
of  the  Colonel. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  such  unanimity,"  said  old 
Wainwright,  visibly  pleased.  "Chaplain,"  he 
called,  and  as  the  old  army  chaplain  came  for- 
ward; "will  you  let  me  have  your  Bible, 
please?" 

267 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  clergyman  handed  to  the  Colonel  the 
small  Bible  which  he  took  from  the  pocket  of  his 
jacket. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Colonel,  "I  have  here  a 
Bible  on  which  I  will  swear  you  into  the  service 
of  the  United  States.  Raise  your  right  hands." 

Instantly  every  hand  was  raised  and  the  deep 
voices  of  the  men  signified  assent  to  the  solemn 
oath  of  allegiance  and  service,  which  the  Colo- 
nel gravely  administered. 

"Captain  Kennard,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  the 
Bible  back  to  the  Chaplain,  "here  is  your  troop. 
Muster  it.  See  that  the  men  are  regularly  put 
on  a  company  roll.  Take  full  charge  and  ap- 
point your  officers  immediately.  You  will  move 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  can  furnish 
you  with  four  pack  mules,  a  supply  of  ammuni- 
tion, a  medicine  chest,  and  such  rations  as  the 
men  can  carry  on  their  persons." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Kennard.  "Gentle- 
men," he  turned  and  faced  the  troop,  "you  have 
honored  me,  indeed,  in  giving  me  the  command. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  blessing  of  God  will  en- 
able us  to  do  good  work  for  our  country  and  the 
helpless  settlements  below  us." 

268 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

"An'  let 's  hope  we  git  Benham's  gal,"  cried 
one  of  the  cow-punchers. 

"Amen  to  that!"  returned  Kennard.  "The 
regimental  quartermaster  will  see  to  the  making 
of  the  proper  papeis.  I  shall  appoint  Colonel 
Morris,"  he  pointed  to  an  old  ex-Confederate 
soldier,  "as  second  in  command.  Johnson,  you 
will  be  next  to  him.  Chambers,  you  next  to 
Johnson.  In  case  anything  happens  to  me,  the 
orders  of  these  men  in  succession  will  be  obeyed 
and  respected  accordingly.  I  will  have  you 
awakened  at  half  after  three.  You  can  draw 
three  days'  rations,  about  all  you  can  carry  with 
your  other  stuff,  from  the  Commissary  at  that 
time.  At  four  o'clock,  men,  I  mean  to  be  on  the 
way." 

"You  hain't  forgot  me,  have  you,  Cap'n  Ken- 
nard?" said  a  familiar  voice  out  of  the  darkness. 

"What,  Meekins !  No  indeed,"  exclaimed  the 
young  Captain  gladly.  "Do  you  wish  to  be 
sworn  in  with  the  rest?" 

"Not  me,"  laughed  the  old  trapper,  "I  gits 
there  an'  fights  on  my  own  hook,  but  if  you  want 
me  to  go  'long  with  you,  why,  I  'm  willin'." 

"I  consider  your  presence  worth  that  of  any 
269 


THE  WEST  WIND 

dozen  men,  including  myself,  and  meaning  no 
discredit  to  the  rest  of  the  men,"  said  Kennard 
warmly. 

"I  want  to  be  in  at  the  death,"  said  the  trapper 
grimly;  "I  got  a  hunch  thai  we're  goin'  to  git 
the  Half  Breed,  an'  mebby  find  the  gal." 

"I  hope  so.  I  pray  for  another  chance  at 
him.  But  you  had  better  unsaddle  and  picket 
your  horses,  gentlemen,  and  get  what  rest  you 
can.  Morris,  will  you  and  Johnson  and  Cham- 
bers attend  to  it.  Now,  good-night." 

"Three  cheers  for  Joe  Kennard,"  cried  old 
Johnson,  waving  his  hat  in  the  air. 


270 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SHOTS  IN  THE  HILLS 

THE  dawn  was  just  graying  in  the  east  when 
the  rough  riders  filed  out  of  the  camp  and 
trotted  gently  around  the  shoulder  of  the  range, 
seeking  a  practicable  pass  to  the  westward.  As 
usual,  Kennard  and  Meekins  rode  at  the  head. 
The  old  frontiersman  was  talkative,  as  was  his 
wont.  He  was  silent  enough  when  going  into 
action,  but  he  indulged  his  tongue  freely  on  other 
Jtcasions. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "I  can't  help  figgerin' 
that  somehow  the  gal  escaped  down  the  trail. 
No,  I  did  n't  see  no  place  where  she  could  have 
descended  to  the  canon.  The  heavy  rain  which 
poured  down  all  day  had  washed  away  any  sign 
an'  swept  the  slope  bare  's  the  palm  o'  your  hand. 
I  never  seed  no  such  rain  afore.  There  might 
have  been  ways  to  git  down  that  mountain  side, 
an'  I  sort  o'  remembers  a  place  where  it  might 
have  been  possible  for  a  desprit  woman,  espe- 

271 


THE  WEST  WIND 

cially  afore  the  rain  washed  out  any  trees  or  rocks 
that  might  have  made  natural  steps  an'  enabled 
her  to  git  across  the  river,  an'  I  got  an  idee  that 
if  we  strikes  acrost  the  range  an'  searches  the 
valleys  there,  we  might  find  her." 

Kennard  shook  his  head. 

"She  could  never  have  escaped  alone." 

"Well,  mebbe  that's  so,  too,"  returned  the 
scout,  "but  who  's  to  say  she  was  alone.  There 
might  have  been  some  friendly  Injin  in  that 
gang  that  stabbed  the  Injin  in  the  pass.  It 
don't  look  to  me  like  Miss  Benham  would  have 
killed  him." 

"You  don't  know  what  a  woman  can  do  when 
she  is  at  bay,"  suggested  Kennard. 

"No,  that's  true  as  Gospel,"  answered  the 
frontiersman,  "an'  I  Ve  seed  'em  turned  inter 
tigers  by  trouble  an'  danger.  At  any  rate, 
there  's  only  two  ways  she  could  'a  gone,  up  the 
trail  or  down  it.  If  she  went  up  it,  she  's  either 
in  that  Injin  village,  or  she  ain't.  If  she  went 
down  it,  she  must  'a  crossed  the  river  somehow, 
somewhere.  If  she  went  up  the  trail  an'  is  in 
the  village,  an'  is  still  alive,  Sullivan  will  git 
her,  or  git  some  word  to  her." 

272 


SHOTS  IN  THE  HILLS 

"He  is  a  man  in  ten  thousand/'  said  the  Cap- 
tain; "even  if  he  did  put  it  into  me,  I  can  re- 
spect and  admire  him,  just  the  same." 

"He  '11  be  ready  enough  to  take  that  back, 
Cap'n,"  said  Meekins;  "I  knows  him  well." 

"Well,  I  shall  meet  him  half  way,"  said  Ken- 
nard. 

Meekins  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"With  my  hand  outstretched  the  way  he 
wants  it,"  continued  the  Captain. 

"An'  how  's  that?"  asked  the  scout  curiously. 

"Empty  or  armed,"  the  soldier  answered 
quickly  enough,  but  with  his  eyes  sparkling. 

"That's  the  right  spirit  for  a  brave  man. 
Meanwhile,  I  believe  we  're  goin'  in  the  right 
direction  to  git  the  gal.  I  've  got  a  instinck  that 
somethin  's  goin'  to  happen  afore  this  day 's 


over." 


"What  course  do  you  think  is  the  best  for  us 
to  take?' 

"Well,  we  can't  git  acrost  the  canon  nohow. 
We  'd  best  put  to  the  south'ard  until  we  come  to 
the  place  where  you  divided  the  troop  the  other 
day,  an'  there  we  '11  strike  acrost  the  range  an' 
git  into  the  uplands  beyond.  Then  we  '11  edge 

273 


THE  WEST  WIND 

away  to  the  north'ard,  doin'  what  we  can  to  pros- 
peck  the  country  an'  git  in  touch  with  the  In- 
jins  in  the  way.  Why,  even  if  the  gal  was  took 
to  that  camp,  they'll  have  undoubtedly  broke 
up  by  this  time  and  moved  off  the  squaws  and 
pappooses  an'  ponies  an'  plunder  on  the  far 
side  of  their  bucks — the  war  party,  you  know. 
You  see  that  Roman  Nose,  who  's  a  mighty  good 
soldier — his  trick  up  the  canon  showed  that, 
when  he  nearly  got  your  troop — will  want  to 
have  his  women  well  off  to  the  north'ard  where 
he  can  protect  'em.  He  '11  know  that  any  pur- 
suit has  got  to  come  from  the  south  an'  he  '11  be 
lookin'  out  for  us." 

"I  see." 

"After  their  battle  of  yesterday,"  returned 
Meekins,  "an'  the  fact  that  we  've  retired  from 
the  field,  they  won't  be  apt  to  move  till  this 
mornin'.  They'll  be  dancin'  an'  jubilatin' 
around  the  camp  fires  an'  they  won't  git  much 
the  start  of  us." 

The  reasoning  of  the  old  man  was  apparently 
accurate.  His  intuition  was  almost  marvelous, 
thought  Kennard,  as  he  listened  to  this  sagacious 
setting  forth  of  the  probabilities.  The  scout's 

274 


SHOTS  IN  THE  HILLS 

suggestions  completely  coincided  with  his  own 
views  and  plans. 

The  going  was  good  so  long  as  they  kept  away 
from  the  broken  country;  the  horses  were  fresh, 
the  men  were  eager,  so  that  by  twelve  o'clock, 
when  they  stopped  for  a  brief  respite,  they  had 
gone  some  forty  miles.  They  had  long  since 
passed  the  mouth  of  the  canon  and  had  crossed 
the  river,  which  was  there  easily  fordable,  and 
had  progressed  some  distance  up  the  mountains. 
There  was  a  practicable  pass  across  the  range 
before  them,  and  this  they  were  to  essay  after 
dinner. 

"What  lies  beyond  the  pass?"  asked  Kennard 
of  the  scout,  as  he  sat  smoking  with  the  men 
around  the  camp  fire  where  bacon  was  broil- 
ing and  coffee  was  cooking. 

"Well,  there  's  three  or  four  of  them  holes, 
you  know,  off  to  the  north'ard,  which  I  ain't 
never  explored,  an'  then  there  's  a  long  stretch  of 
gentle  rollin'  country,  a  kind  o'  high  tableland. 
We  can  go  for  a  hundred  miles  or  so  if  we  keep 
to  the  south'rd  of  the  ranges  that  springs  off  to 
the  westward.  Them  '11  be  the  mountains  that  '11 
be  coverin'  Roman  Nose's  moves.  I  think  our 

275 


THE  WEST  WIND 

best  plan  will  be  to  cross  the  range  to  the  north 
side  arter  a  while." 

"How's  the  country  there?" 

"Rough.  It  's  most  like  the  Bad  Lands  of  the 
Dakotas." 

"It  will  be  no  worse  for  us  than  for  the  In- 
dians, however,  and  we  will  be  nearer  to  them, 
with  a  better  chance  of  observing  them,  and  a 
better  chance  of  striking  them." 

"Yep,  that  Js  so." 

"And  then  the  mountains  will  always  be  on 
our  left  flank,"  put  in  old  Colonel  Morris,  "af- 
fording us  a  place  of  retreat,  if  we  should  need 
it." 

"There  speaks  the  old  soldier,"  said  Kennard. 

"Well,"  said  Colonel  Morris,  "I  didn't  serve 
four  years  in  the  Confederate  Cavalry  for 
nothing.  Why,"  he  went  on  with  the  freedom 
of  a  veteran,  "this  takes  me  back  to  old 
times—" 

"I  hope,  though,"  interposed  Chambers, 
"there  is  n't  going  to  be  any  retreating." 

"That  is  as  the  Cap'n  says,"  remarked  John- 
son philosophically,  puffing  at  his  pipe.  "I  be- 
gins to  see  that  to  make  a  success  of  a  jaunt  like 

276 


SHOTS  IN  THE  HILLS 

this  we  got  to  be  under  steady  direction  all  the 
while,  an'  as  for  myself,  an'  the  bunch  I  brung, 
we  're  goin'  to  obey  orders,  every  time." 

"Thank  you,  Johnson,"  said  Kennard,  smil- 
ing slightly;  "I  see  that  you  are  a  born  soldier, 
if  not  an  old  one." 

"I  'd  be  anything  on  earth,"  returned  the 
cattleman,  gravely,  "if  I  could  only  git  that  gal 
back  safe  an'  git  my  hands  on  that  Half  Breed, 
damn  him!" 

"Amen!"  answered  one  of  the  Benham  ranch 
crowd,  to  this  singular  prayer. 

"Yep,  that's  what  we  all  say!"  burst  out  one 
of  the  men  from  the  group  sitting  near  and 
listening  intently  to  the  conversation. 

Kennard,  touched  on  the  raw,  arose  and 
walked  away  from  the  fire.  He  stood  staring 
at  the  range,  wondering  what  lay  behind  and 
whether  it  would  be  possible,  in  the  Providence 
of  God,  that  in  that  vast  country  he  might  find 
the  woman  he  loved. 

"He  's  hard  hit,"  said  Chambers  to  the  others. 

"Aye,"  answered  old  Johnson,  "an'  from 
what  I  Ve  seen  an'  heerd,  now  that  I  recollects, 
I  believe  the  gal 's  in  love  with  him,  too.  She 

277 


THE  WEST  WIND 

talked  a  heap  about  him  last  year  when  she  come 
back  from  school  on  her  vacation."  He  shook 
his  head.  "Poor  Sullivan,  I  wonder  where  he 
is." 

"He  's  putting  in  good  work  for  her  some- 
where, I  '11  bet,"  said  Colonel  Morris,  puffing 
away  at  his  pipe.  "And,  if  she  is  to  be  rescued 
single-handed,  there  is  n't  a  man  in  Wyoming 
I  had  rather  trust  the  job  to  than  that  big 
rancher." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Meekins,  and  the  praise 
was  the  more  magnanimous,  since  he  himself 
might  have  fairly  disputed  with  Sullivan,  save 
in  brute  strength,  availability  for  such  tremen- 
dous services. 

"It  is  hard  on  us  all,"  remarked  Chambers, 
"but  it  must  be  hardest  for  him,"  and  he  pointed 
back  to  Kennard,  "and  I  for  one  am  going  to 
do  everything  in  my  power  to  second  him." 

"We  're  all  with  you,"  cried  one  of  the  men 
from  the  group,  amongst  a  chorus  of  warm  ap- 
provals, which  made  Kennard  at  last  turn 
around. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "we  have  been  here 
nearly  an  hour.  In  five  minutes  we  must  start." 

278 


SHOTS  IN  THE  HILLS 

The  signal  was  welcomed  with  alacrity.  The 
horses  were  saddled,  and  the  men  were  soon  on 
their  way.  For  two  hours  they  struggled  up- 
ward through  the  pass.  It  was  yet  early  in  the 
afternoon  when  they  at  last  crossed  the  back- 
bone of  the  divide  and  descended  to  the  other 
side.  It  was,  as  Meekins  had  predicted,  a  broad 
open,  rolling  country  ahead  and  to  the  south  of 
them.  While  to  the  north,  the  range  shot  a 
huge,  high,  towering  spur  abruptly  far  west- 
ward until  it  disappeared  in  the  distance.  Be- 
low, four  or  five  miles  away,  swept  a  broad  and 
shallow  river,  which  seemed  to  issue  from  a  rift 
in  the  precipitous  wall  of  the  mountain  on  the 
right  of  their  advance. 

The  party  drew  rein  on  the  summit  of  the 
pass  to  rest  their  horses,  and  gazed  upon  the  en- 
chanting picture.  The  old  scout,  however,  had 
no  especial  eye  for  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and 
he  instantly  pointed  out  the  river  flowing  from 
the  cleft. 

"That  '11  be  one  of  them  holes  I  told  you 
about.  There,  where  the  river  flows  out.  You 
know  Jackson's  Hole,  an'  the  other  places  them 
outlaws  kept?" 

279 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Yes,"  said  Kennard. 

"Well,  that  '11  be  one  just  like  it,  I  doubt  not. 
She  may  be  in  a  place  like  that." 

"Would  you  advise  that  we  cross  the  range 
then?" 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  answered  Meekins. 

"Do  you  know  this  country?" 

"Not  to  any  extent  on  yonder  side  of  the  Big 
Horn  Range,"  answered  Meekins. 

"You  think  we  could  get  across  the  range 
through  one  of  these  pockets  or  holes?" 

"Hardly,  but  we  '11  find  some  way,  I  am  sure 
of  it." 

"Forward,  gentlemen,"  said  Kennard,  start- 
ing down  the  slope. 

The  descent  was  easier  than  the  ascent,  and 
as  the  elevation  of  the  western  side  of  the  moun- 
tains was  higher,  it  was  not  so  long.  In  half  an 
hour  they  found  themselves  on  the  level  upland. 
Increasing  the  pace  to  a  trot,  the  little  command 
moved  rapidly  forward. 

It  was  now  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
they  splashed  into  the  shallow  river.  They  had 
edged  toward  the  mountains  and  were  but  a  few 

280 


SHOTS  IN  THE  HILLS 

rods  from  the  narrow  gate-like  pass,  whence  it 
rushed  torrentially,  only  to  spread  out  in  a 
shallow,  gentle  stream  after  its  escape  from  the 
cliffs. 

They  stopped  their  horses  in  the  river  and  let 
them  drink  of  the  cool,  sweet  water,  and  took 
occasion  to  bend  down  and  fill  their  own  can- 
teens. Reluctant  to  draw  them  away  from  so 
pleasant  a  scene,  the  young  Captain  sat  motion- 
less, a  little  apart,  looking  at  the  men.  They 
were  a  hard-bitten  set,  most  of  them,  there  was 
no  doubt  about  that,  but  they  looked  capable  and 
reckless  to  the  last  degree.  He  thought  they 
would  go  on  forever — and  then  some  more,  in 
the  language  of  the  frontier.  He  would  have 
matched  his  own  troop  back  in  camp  against  any 
troop  in  the  army  before  their  mutinous  conduct 
had  shaken  his  confidence  in  them,  but,  saving 
the  fact  that  these  men  had  not  been  trained,  and 
lacked  the  habit  of  subordination  and  long,  hard 
drilling,  which  he  had  thought  had  welded  his 
troop  into  a  perfect  machine,  they  were  better 
men  individually  than  the  soldiers.  They  were 
a  body  of  men  he  could  lead  anywhere,  and  do 

281 


THE  WEST  WIND 

anything  with  that  human  beings  could  be  ex- 
pected to  do — and  perhaps  then  some  more 
again! 

He  turned  at  last  from  watching  the  laugh- 
ing and  chattering  group,  to  stare  hard  at  the 
mountain  wall,  and  as  he  did  so,  he  heard  faintly 
through  the  opening  made  by  the  river,  rifle 
shots! 

Every  man  in  the  troop  heard  them  at  the 
same  time.  Every  man  straightened  up  on  the 
instant,  and  listened  in  strained  attention.  Even 
the  horses  seemed  to  catch  the  infection  of  their 
riders'  emotions,  for  they  drew  up  their  heads, 
and  the  place  grew  suddenly  still  except  for  the 
splashing  of  the  water  against  the  knees  of  the 
animals. 

"Shots!"  cried  Meekins,  "yonder  in  that  hole! 
What  can  it  be?" 

"We  are  here  to  find  out,"  said  Kennard. 
"Come,  gentlemen!" 

He  crossed  the  river  to  the  firm  bank  and, 
followed  by  all,  galloped  headlong  toward  the 
narrow  rift  in  the  gigantic  wall. 


282 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

THERE  had  been  occupation  in  plenty  for 
the  three  castaways  interred  in  that  little 
cave  during  the  long  morning.  Amy's  escape 
and  her  doings  since  then  had  first  of  all  to  be 
told.  Then,  in  turn  the  cattleman  took  up  the 
history.  He  recounted  all  that  had  occurred 
since  her  father's  death.  He  described  the  bat- 
tle in  the  pass,  the  finding  of  her  slippers. 
Alas !  the  one  which  Kennard  had  so  generously 
given  him  had  been  torn  from  him  as  he  slid 
down  the  cliffs.  It  was  probably  lying  in  some 
crevice  of  the  rocks.  He  told  her  faithfully 
everything  that  had  occurred,  all  that  he  had 
said  and  done,  especially  in  that  memorable 
scene  in  the  pass  where  he  had  left  the  troops 
he  had  reviled.  He  neither  accused  nor  excused 
himself  nor  any  one.  He  just  told  the  plain 
truth. 

She  listened    with    staring    eyes    and    bated1 
283 


THE  WEST  WIND 

breath,  as  he  described  the  desperate  hazard  he 
had  gone  through  in  the  wild  search  for  the 
woman  the  Captain  and  he  both  loved. 

She  interrupted  him  infrequently  until  he 
came  to  the  description  of  the  episode  in  the  box 
canon  where  Kennard  had  refused  to  charge 
the  village,  and  had  chosen  rather  to  obey 
orders,  and  where  Sullivan  had  called  him  a 
coward. 

The  pallid  countenance  of  the  girl  flushed 
deeply  at  this.  Sullivan,  who  never  took  his 
eyes  from  her  face,  noticed  the  sudden  glow  in 
her  cheeks. 

"You  don't  like  that,"  he  said,  with  a  curious 
sinking  of  the  heart. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  Her  blue  eyes 
flashed. 

"You  called  the  man  I — "  she  checked  her- 
self in  time.  "You  called  him  a  coward  and  in 
the  face  of  his  troop.  That  was  hard  to  bear," 
she  went  on.  "What  did  he  then?" 

"He  wanted  to  kill  me,"  answered  Sullivan 
simply.  "Perhaps  he  would  have  killed  me,  or 
tried  to,  or  I  him,  if  he  had  n't  been  a  soldier." 

The  suffering  of  the  big  ranchman  was  worse 
284 


THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

than  she  knew.  Her  feelings  were  so  patent 
and  open,  and  although  he  had  resigned  himself 
to  it — and  indeed,  whether  she  loved  him  or  an- 
other, bade  fair  to  be  of  little  moment  since  life 
held  practically  no  prospects  for  either  of  them 
—yet,  he  could  scarcely  bear  it.  It  was  like  the 
turning  of  a  knife  in  a  raw  and  open  wound  just 
when  it  was  sorest. 

As  for  Amy  Benham,  she  was  a  soldier's 
daughter,  and  had  been  brought  up  to  a  full 
realization  of  the  duty  of  a  soldier.  His  honor 
and  allegiance  and  obligation  were  obvious  to 
her  from  her  father's  old  tales  of  ancient  wars, 
in  which  he  had  borne  a  part.  She  compre- 
hended the  situation  perfectly;  and  yet,  she  had 
not  been  a  woman  had  she  not  felt  a  pang  of 
fierce  jealousy — that  she  had  to  give  place  even 
to  the  highest  duty — which  natural  feeling  Sul- 
livan intensified  by  pointing  out  the  facts  of  the 
case. 

"You  see,   Miss  Amy,  he  went  back,  but  I 


came  on." 


It  was  boasting,  of  course,  and  not  worthy  of 
him,  but  the  man  was  wrung  with  pain,  physical 
and  mental,  and  was  so  wildly  jealous  himself. 


THE  WEST  WIND 

in  spite  of  his  brave  attempt  at  philosophy,  that 
he  may  be  pardoned. 

"He  did  his  duty  as  a  soldier." 

"That 's  what  he  said,"  returned  Sullivan. 

"And  duty  compelled  him  to  return." 

"Duty!"  exclaimed  the  cattleman.  "My 
whole  duty  was  to  find  you,  to  rescue  you,  to  save 
the  girl  I  loved" — she  here  put  out  her  hand,  but 
he  would  not  be  checked — "from  horrors  worse 
than  a  thousand  deaths,  that  involved  tortures 
unthinkable.  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  I  would  let  any  duty  interfere  with  that!" 

"You  are  not  a  soldier,"  returned  the  girl, 
stoutly. 

"I  am  your  soldier,"  said  Sullivan,  equally 
resolute,  "and  if  I  had  been  the  general  in  com- 
mand I  would  have  gone  on  just  the  same  with 
an  army — or  alone — for  you." 

"And  left  your  men  to  be  massacred,  for  that 
would  have  happened  had  they  followed  you, 
would  n't  it?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Yes,"  was  the  reluctant  ad- 
mission. "Well,  I  would  have  left  them  just 
the  same.  What 's  the  world,  or  all  the  men  in 
it,  soldiers,  or  not,  compared  to  you!" 

286 


THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

It  was  rough  wooing  and  powerful.  Amy 
Benham  would  not  have  been  human  if  she  had 
not  thrilled  to  it. 

"I  would  have  gone  on,"  continued  Sullivan, 
"though  it  had  cost  me  my  life  and  the  lives  of 
my  men.  I  would  let  everything  go  to  smash 
for  you.  Well,  he  went  back!" 

"What  must  it  have  cost  him,"  said  the  girl 
thoughtfully,  and  that  she  could  think  of  Ken- 
nard's  suffering  rather  than  Sullivan's  devotion, 
gave  him  another  throb  of  jealousy.  "Suppose 
that  he — he — he  loves  me  as  much  as  you 
imagine,  if  he  believed  I  was  there,  suffering  as 
you  say,  cannot  you  think  of  the  awful  agony  of 
the  man  who  had  to  leave  me  behind.  You 
don't  think  him  a  coward,  do  you?"  she  added 
appealingly;  she  had  lived  long  enough  in  the 
West  to  realize  that  no  man  could  suffer  that 
charge  and  retain  any  one's  respect. 

"No,"  was  the  grudging  answer,  wrung  from 
the  unwilling  cattleman.  "I  '11  take  that  back 
if  I  see  him;  that  is,  if  he  gives  me  a  chance!" 

"Gives  you  a  chance?" 

"Yes ;  I  have  no  doubt  he  '11  shoot  me  on  sight, 
or  try  to,  and  if  we  ever  get  out  alive,  since 

287 


THE  WEST  WIND 

you  love  him,  I  won't  hinder  him,"  he  added 
bitterly. 

"I  will  prevent  that,"  said  the  woman,  quite 
forgetting  poor  Sullivan  for  Kennard,  "and  my 
heart  is  wrung  for  him.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to 
brand  as  a  coward  a  man  of  honor,  a  brave  man, 
because  he  has  been  brought  up  from  his  youth 
to  put  duty  before  all  the  other  things  in  the 
world,  even  before  a  woman  when  he  loves  her. 
I  cannot  understand  how  you  could  say  that  to 
a  man  who  has  had  instilled  in  every  fiber  of 
his  being  the  qualities  that  go  to  make  a  loyal 
soldier." 

"He  chose  between  obeying  his  orders  and 
possibly  sacrificing  the  woman  he  loved,"  was 
the  curt  rejoinder. 

"Yes,  and  I  can  see  him  now.  I  can  feel  for 
him.  You  ought  to  understand  that  his  heart 
broke  there  in  the  box  canon.  I  don't  believe 
he  even  thought  about  your  calling  him  a  cow- 
ard. He  must  have  been  thinking  about  me. 
Where  is  he  now?" 

The  girl's  words  came  brokenly.  At  last  she 
put  her  head  down  in  her  hands  and  began  to 
weep  softly. 

288 


THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

"Good  Godl  Miss  Amy,"  burst  out  the 
rancher  at  last.  "Don't.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you 
cry!  I  wish  he  were  here.  I  'd  take  it  all  back. 
He  did  right  according  to  his  lights,  I  suppose. 
Thank  God!  they  ain't  my  lights,  but  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there." 

"It  is  all  so  hopeless,"  said  the  girl  through 
her  tears.  "Our  food  is  gone.  I  am  sick, 
starved,  broken.  You  are  wounded,  helpless. 
What  can  we  do?  Who  will  protect  us  now?" 

"It  ain't  for  the  likes  of  me  to  speak  of  such 
things  to  the  likes  of  you,"  answered  the  big 
cattleman,  slowly  and  gravely,  "but  I  knew  you 
when  you  were  a  child.  I  remember  once  com- 
ing into  your  room  at  night  to  see  the  Colonel 
about  an  important  matter  that  could  n't  wait, 
and  your  father  was  sitting  down  on  the  bed,  and 
you  were  kneeling  by  him,  a  tiny  girl,  in  your 
little  white  gown,  saying  your  prayers.  Can't 
you  pray  now?  You  do  that  and  I  will  work." 
— The  old,  old  combination,  Sullivan;  the  ir- 
resistible combination  of  faith  and  works! — "If 
they  will  let  us  alone  until  nightfall  I  will  try  to 
get  out  of  here.  The  soldiers,  I  take  it,  must 
have  fallen  back.  They  will  be  in  the  vicinity 

289 


THE  WEST  WIND 

of  Tear  Lake.  My  legs  are  all  right  if  my  hands 
are  more  or  less  useless.  I  will  get  word  to  them 
somehow." 

"I  have  prayed,"  sobbed  the  girl,  "day  after 
day,  hour  by  hour,  and  nobody  seems  to  hear!" 

"Perhaps  God  brought  me  to  you,  Miss 
Amy,"  responded  the  other  clumsily,  as  is  the 
habit  of  men  in  such  discourse.  "I  can  hold  that 
entrance  yonder  for  a  while  at  least,  and  per- 
haps rescue  is  coming  this  way.  It  is  not  in  my 
Irish  heart  to  despair.  You  have  been  pre- 
served unharmed  so  far." 

"Yes,  thank  God!"  answered  the  girl,  looking 
at  him  through  her  tears. 

"There,  that  ?s  right;  when  you  begin  to  thank 
Him,  it  will  be  easy  to  pray  to  Him." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  woman. 

She  had  been  sitting  by  his  side.  She  got  to 
her  knees,  and  there  in  the  rude  shelter  in  the 
rocks,  alone,  save  for  the  savage  woman  and  a 
bruised,  sorely  stricken  man,  the  girl  poured  out 
her  soul  to  God  in  humble  petition  for  the  ex- 
tension of  His  love  and  His  care  over  the 
wounded  and  the  helpless  and  the  forsaken. 

It  was  very  still  in  the  little  cave  in  the  cliff 
290 


THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

after  that.  None  cared  to  break  the  silence. 
They  were,  it  might  almost  be  said,  listening  for 
a  response  to  the  petition.  It  was  the  ever- 
practical  Mah-wissa  who  moved  first.  The 
canteen  was  empty.  She  limped  to  the  spring 
which  flowed  in  the  cave  near  the  entrance  and 
stooped  to  fill  it.  As  she  did  so,  she  got  a 
straight  lookout  through  the  entrance  far  down 
the  valley.  Across  the  range  of  her  vision  there 
swept  a  plumed  and  painted  figure  and  then 
many  more.  Carefully  filling  the  canteen,  she 
turned  back  to  where  the  other  two  sat. 

"They  come,"  she  said  laconically,  handing 
the  vessel  of  cool  water  to  the  thirsty,  fevered 
man. 

"Is  that  the  answer  to  our  prayer?"  asked  the 
girl  with  a  burst  of  hysterical  laughter. 

"No,"  said  Sullivan,  sternly  rebuking  her,  and 
by  the  strangeness  of  his  words  giving  her 
strength  and  much  encouragement.  "You 
prayed  for  protection  and  help.  I  am  the 
answer.  Give  God  a  chance!  Give  me  a 
chance!" 

God  and  man  together!  the  ancient  associa- 
tion to  which  all  things  are  possible.  What 

291 


THE  WEST  WIND 

could   they  two   do   for  her.     Well,   the   girl 
should  see. 

Meanwhile,  Sullivan  got  to  his  feet,  the  wo- 
men helping  him.  With  his  left  hand  he 
clutched  the  barrel  of  the  Winchester.  It 
would  be  time  enough  to  put  the  torn  fingers 
of  his  right  hand  about  it  when  the  compelling 
need  approached  more  imminently.  So  long  as 
he  could  he  would  spare  the  other  hand.  Then 
he  slowly  staggered  through  the  pass  until  he 
stood  well  within  the  entrance,  sheltered  from  at- 
tack and  concealed  from  observation  save  from 
one,  to  the  Indians,  almost  impossible  point  of 
view. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  asked  Amy 
who,  with  Mah-wissa,  had  followed  him. 

"By  God's  help  I  am  going  to  keep  them  out 
of  here  until  — " 

He  paused  significantly.     The  girl  nodded. 

"I  shall  know  what  to  do  then,"  she  answered 
simply,  quite  understanding  the  meaning  of  his 
silence. 

"Very  well.  When  they  come  on,  you  get 
back  in  the  cave  with  the  squaw." 

"Yes.     Have  they  seen  us  yet?" 
292 


THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

"Not  yet,  but  it  won't  take  them  long  to  find 
us.  For  one  thing,  we  left  a  trail  of  blood  from 
the  place  where  I  fell  over  the  cliffs,  and  then 
that  Indian  saw  us  headed  in  this  direction." 

He  pointed  out  into  the  light.  From  the  ob- 
scurity of  the  cave  the  maneuvers  of  the  In- 
dians were  easily  visible.  There  must  have 
been  half  a  hundred  of  them,  passing  and  re- 
passing.  The  Half  Breed  was  easily  a  leader 
among  them. 

"He  has  brought  the  whole  village  down  on 
us,"  muttered  Sullivan.  "God,  if  I  only  had  a 
gun  that  would  shoot!"  He  looked  at  the 
damaged  Winchester  trailing  by  his  side.  "I 
could  make  short  work  of  him  anyway  and  it 
would  be  some  satisfaction  to  send  him  to  hell 
ahead  of  me." 

"You  are  not  going  there,"  said  Amy  Ben- 
ham,  quickly. 

"I  am  going  to  die  all  right;  we  all  of  us  are." 

"Yes,  but  you  will  die  for  me,"  and  the  girl 
whispered  gently,  "  'Greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friends."' 

"Who  said  that?" 

293 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Our  Lord." 

There  was  a  long  pause  which  was  suddenly 
broken  by  Mah-wissa. 

"Me  go  out,"  she  said. 

"No,"  answered  Sullivan,  "you  stay  here.  If 
Miss  Amy  fails,  you  make  sure  they  do  not  get 
her  alive." 

The  squaw  nodded.  She  understood.  At 
that  instant  a  chorus  of  yells  burst  from  the  In- 
dians. They  had  discovered  the  trail.  It  was 
easy  to  see  where  it  pointed.  They  clustered 
about  it  and  stared. 

Sullivan  drew  back,  but  not  quickly  enough. 
They  got  a  glimpse  of  him  in  the  narrow  pass, 
framed  on  one  side  by  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and 
on  the  other  by  the  high  rampart  of  bowlders, 
steep  and  sharp  enough  to  prevent  any  one  of 
the  Indians  from  climbing  over.  Neither  could 
they  get  to  the  top  of  the  cliff  and  thence  shoot 
down  upon  him  on  account  of  the  overhanging 
of  the  face.  Indeed,  the  cliff  and  bowlders  of 
the  outer  wall  almost  met — did  meet  in  some 
places  over  his  head — so  as  to  make  the  little 
narrow  pass  a  penthouse.  Given  arms,  it  was 

294 


THE  CAVE-WOMAN 

the  sort  of  a  place  one  man  could  have  held 
against  a  thousand.  Alas,  Sullivan  had  no 
weapons,  save  those  nature  gave  him.  Well,  he 
would  make  a  good  fight  with  those. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  BERSERKER 


44>TpHE   battle's    on,"    said   the    cattleman; 
-•*     "they  have  seen  us." 


As  he  spoke  there  was  a  crashing  volley  i 
the  open.  They  heard  the  bullets  ring  against 
the  wall.  Splinters  of  stone  flew  in  all  direc- 
tions, but  the  cave  dwellers  had  drawn  back 
behind  a  turn  in  the  pass  and  they  remained  un- 
scathed. 

"Safe  so  far!"  cried  Sullivan,  almost  cheer- 
ily. 

The  old  ineradicable  leaven  of  the  flesh,  the 
lust  of  fighting,  was  getting  back  into  his  veins, 
renewing  his  strength,  and  giving  him  the  vigor 
of  which  his  many  wounds  had  drained  him. 
He  turned  and  looked  at  the  woman  he  loved. 

"I  would  like  to  stay  and  fight  by  your  side," 
she  said,  her  bosom  heaving,  her  breath  coming 
short  and  quick,  her  eyes  shining,  the  contagion 
of  his  spirit  upon  her. 

296 


THE  BERSERKER 

"It  can't  be.  You  would  only  hamper  me. 
I  want  all  the  room  there  is.  You  must  go 
back!" 

"I  obey,"  said  the  girl. 

"But  before  she  did  so,  she  stepped  toward 
him,  caught  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  it  was 
the  wounded  shoulder  she  grasped  unwittingly, 
but  he  did  not  feel  the  pain  in  the  great  rush  of 
feeling  that  swept  over  him  as  she  lifted  her 
face  and  kissed  him. 

"Good-by;  you  are  a  brave  man.  God  won't 
forget!" 

She  clung  to  him  an  instant  and  was  gone. 

A  new  man  indeed,  as  well  as  a  brave  one, 
Sullivan  stepped  toward  the  entrance  and 
sought  such  concealment  as  was  possible  to  him. 

Through  crevices  and  crannies  in  the  rocks 
he  could  see  what  was  going  on.  Necessarily 
he  ran  the  risk  of  a  stray  bullet  searching  out 
some  crack  and  hitting  him,  but  the  hazard  of 
that  was  not  great. 

The  Indians,  directed  by  the  Half  Breed  with 
considerable  skill,  had  scattered  in  various  di- 
rections, and  from  all  sides  a  perfect  storm  of 
bullets  now  poured  into  the  mouth  of  the 

297 


THE  WEST  WIND 

miniature  pass.  It  would  have  meant  instant 
death  to  any  one  who  had  stood  in  view.  They 
kept  this  up  for  some  minutes  until  finally  the 
vain  fusillade  died  away. 

This  attack,  if  such  it  might  be  called,  was 
met  with  utter  and  absolute  silence.  Not  a 
sound  came  from  the  cave  in  the  hills  save  the 
dying  echoes  of  the  quick  volleys.  This  puz- 
zled the  Indians  greatly.  They  consulted  to- 
gether and  finally  a  little  body  detached  itself 
from  the  line,  took  cover  behind  bowlders  lying 
against  the  side  of  the  cliffs,  and  cautiously 
moved  forward  toward  the  entrance. 

The  attack  was  coming,  thought  the  cattle- 
man, nerving  himself  to  meet  the  onset.  But 
none  came ;  with  wild  whoops  and  yells,  the  In- 
dians suddenly  darted  from  cover  and  dashed 
wildly  squarely  across  the  opening.  As  they 
passed  outside  of  the  line  of  fire,  another  volley 
smote  against  the  rocks  and  rang  through  the 
twisted  pass. 

The  ruse  was  so  patent  that  Sullivan  laughed 
grimly,  as  he  thought  about  it.  They  hoped  to 
draw  his  fire,  and  they  were  willing  to  risk 
their  lives  in  order  to  get  him  to  step  out  into 

298 


THE  BERSERKER 

the  opening  where  they  could  shoot  him  down. 
Two  or  three  times  this  maneuver  was  re- 
peated, and  of  course,  without  avail,  since  he 
had  neither  rifle  nor  revolver. 

More  consultation  followed.  What  it  would 
result  in  he  could  not  tell ;  yet,  he  did  not  relax 
his  vigilance  for  a  moment.  It  was  well  that 
he  remained  on  the  alert,  for  suddenly  there 
burst  into  full  sight,  around  the  rocks  to  the 
left  of  the  buttress  wall,  an  Indian,  Winchester 
in  hand.  He  appeared  in  the  opening  with 
startling  suddenness.  He  had  been  detached 
from  the  right  flank  of  the  Indians  and  had 
crept  up  to  the  buttress  wall,  and  counted  upon 
killing  the  man,  whom  he  supposed  to  be  in  the 
entrance,  by  taking  him  by  surprise  when  he 
sprang  into  view.  As  he  appeared,  he  fired 
point  blank  into  the  entrance. 

Into  the  smoke  of  the  discharge  Sullivan 
leaped.  He  clasped  the  barrel  of  the  gun  with 
both  hands  now.  How  he  got  his  wounded, 
shattered  fingers  around  it  he  could  not  have 
told,  but  fury  made  him  ignore  the  pain,  and 
before  the  Indian  could  repeat  his  shot,  he 
brought  his  war  club — the  weapon  of  the  cave 

299 


THE  WEST  WIND 

man,  his  forbear — crashing  down  on  his 
assailant's  head.  The  stock,  already  broken, 
splintered  under  the  fierce  blow,  which  tore 
through  the  feathered  headdress  the  Indian 
wore,  and  beat  out  his  brains.  There  was  only 
the  barrel  left  in  the  rancher's  hand,  which 
would  be  of  advantage  to  him  in  a  hand  to  hand 
fight,  which  must  certainly  follow,  on  account 
of  the  limited  space  in  which  to  swing  his 
weapon. 

The  ground  sloped  sharply  from  the  entrance, 
and  although  the  rancher  made  a  quick  grasp  at 
the  Indian's  Winchester,  his  blow  had  been  so 
terrific  that  the  savage  was  fairly  hurled  down 
the  slope;  he  fell  at  its  foot,  clasping  the  rifle  in 
his  dead  hand,  and  quite  out  of  reach. 

For  a  moment,  Sullivan  was  in  plain  view 
through  the  smoke.  The  Indians  saw  the  war- 
rior fall  and  lie  motionless.  An  instant  dis- 
charge rang  out.  A  bullet  grazed  the  man's 
cheek.  Another  cut  through  the  fleshy  part  of 
his  leg.  Neither,  however,  shook  him.  Before 
they  could  repeat  the  fire,  he  was  back  in 
safety. 

The  detonation  of  the  Indian's  shot,  fired  into 
300 


THE  BERSERKER 

the  narrow  pass,  had  roared  in  the  women's  ears 
like  Alpine  thunder. 

"Sullivan!"  exclaimed  Amy  Benham  in  ter- 
rible anxiety. 

"I've  killed  the  first  one!"  he  answered  in 
notes  of  triumph. 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

"Scratches.     What  are  you  doing?" 

"Praying!" 

"Good!    You  pray  and  I  '11  fight  like  hell." 

His  words  were  drowned  by  another  volley. 
The  Indians,  seeing  that  no  return  shots  were 
fired,  had  come  boldly  into  the  open.  The  Half 
Breed  surmised  that  the  man  was  weaponless, 
and  they  were  approaching  the  mouth  of  the 
cave,  recklessly  exposing  themselves,  and  firing 
as  they  came.  Some  of  the  less  hardy  among 
them  were  still  taking  such  cover  as  the  rocks 
afforded,  but  as  no  return  shots  came,  they  also 
grew  bolder.  Finally  they  stepped  indifferently 
into  the  open,  and  under  cover  of  the  smoke,  with 
wild  warwhoops  the  whole  body  rushed  toward 
the  mouth  of  the  pass.  As  the  firing  died  outy 
Sullivan  cried  out: 

"They  are  coming!  Good-by!  Remember!" 
301 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Let  me  go  to  him,"  cried  Amy,  but  the 
Indian  woman  threw  herself  upon  her  white 
sister  and  wrestled  with  her. 

"He  say  no ;  you  stay  here  I"  she  panted  as  they 
struggled. 

Outside  the  air  was  filled  with  noise.  Inside 
there  was  silence  for  a  space.  Presently,  how- 
ever, the  cattleman  gave  tongue. 

"Come  on!"  he  cried.  "And  you,  Girot! 
You  Half  Breed  hound!  Give  me  a  chance  at 
you,  you  murderer,  you  woman  stealer!" 

His  voice  suddenly  stopped.  The  listeners 
heard  the  thud  of  falling  blows.  Shrieks  of  pain 
mingled  with  yells  of  agony  and  savage  impreca- 
tions. The  cattleman's  voice  rang  hoarsely 
again  after  a  few  moments  of  awful  suspense. 

"They  're  getting  me!  I  can't  hold  out  much 
longer!" 

What  was  happening  at  the  mouth  of  the  little 
pass?  This!  The  first  Indian  that  stuck  his 
painted  face  into  the  entrance  received  a  thrust 
in  the  mouth  from  the  pointed  gun  barrel  that 
nearly  tore  his  head  from  his  shoulders.  He  did 
not  have  time  to  fall  backward,  for  the  surge  of 
the  others  behind  compelled  him  to  pitch  for- 

302 


THE  BERSERKER 

ward.  Springing  from  cover  with  a  leap  like 
that  of  the  primitive  cave  bear,  Big  Sullivan, 
with  a  roar  of  rage,  flung  himself  on  the  hurling 
mass.  Knives  were  drawn,  tomahawks  were 
raised,  one  revolver  cracked  in  the  melee,  but  the 
gun  barrel  rose  and  fell  like  a  flail  beating  down 
the  heads  of  grain. 

The  pass  was  narrow  and  not  more  than  three 
could  stand  abreast,  and  these  were  hampered 
in  their  movements.  Fortunate  for  the  defense 
was  that  sharp  slope  of  the  ground  downward 
and  away  from  the  entrance,  so  that  the  big 
rancher  stood  a  little  above  them,  making  it  the 
more  difficult  for  them  to  come  to  him.  He 
thought  he  would  surely  be  overwhelmed  when 
he  called  to  Amy,  but  no,  the  pressure  on  him 
suddenly  relaxed. 

It  was  not  in  human  nature,  and  especially 
Indian  nature,  which  does  not  love  such  close 
fighting,  to  withstand  so  terrible  a  beating  as  he 
was  giving  them,  and  presently,  leaving  four 
of  their  number  senseless  or  dead,  and  dragging 
two  shattered  and  broken  bodies  after  them,  the 
Indians  broke  and  gave  back  from  the  pass  where 
Sullivan,  swaying  and  staggering,  bleeding  from 

303 


THE  WEST  WIND 

a  dozen  wounds,  his  gun  barrel  covered  with 
blood  and  matted  hair  and  bits  of  flesh,  still  kept 
his  feet,  triumphant,  unconquerable.  As  they 
turned  to  fire  on  him,  he  sought  his  old  place  of 
shelter  once  more. 

"Miss  Amy!"  he  cried,  "are  you  there  still?" 
"Waiting,"  answered  the  girl,  "knife  in  hand." 
"Don't  drive  it  home  until  you  hear  from  me, 
or  until  I  am  silent.     Do  you  understand?" 
"Yes,  God  bless  you!" 
"They're  coming  again!" 
Moved  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse  of  dar- 
ing and  recklessness,  the  tide  of  fighting  blood  at 
full  flood,  and  knowing  now  that  it  was  for  the 
last  time,  as  the  Indians,  this  time  led  by  the 
Half  Breed,  made  another  mad  rush  for  the  pass, 
Sullivan   sprang  out  of   it.     He  set  his   back 
against  the  cliff  wall  and  confronted  them,  a  gory 
and  frightful  figure.     His  shirt  had  been  torn 
from  his  breast  in  the  wild  struggle.     Down  the 
white  surface  of  his  massive  chest  blood  streamed 
and  streaked  it;  sweat  matted  his  hair;  blood 
scored  his  cheek.     He  dripped  with  life,  and  yet 
he  faced  them  in  erect,  undaunted  silence,  their 
Master!     It  was  the  stone  age,  plus  lingering 

304 


THE  BERSERKER 

remnants  of  higher  civilization  not  yet  entirely 
sloughed  off,  facing  the  stone  age,  naked  and 
unashamed.  They  could  kill  him,  they  could 
not  conquer  him. 

If  he  had  only  stood  out  in  the  open  before  he 
would  have  been  shot  to  pieces,  but  the  red  men 
coming  forward  had  left  their  guns  behind  and, 
with  one  exception,  had  resorted  to  the  primitive 
weapons  for  the  last  great  fight.  And  even  as 
he,  the  red  lust  of  battle  possessed  them  as  they 
came  slowly  crowding  on,  like  the  white  man, 
ominously  and  unusually  silent  for  the  few  re- 
maining seconds  before  the  battle  was  joined. 

"You,  Girot!"  growled  Sullivan  at  last. 
"You  come  first!" 

He  had  time  to  say  no  more  before  the  whole 
body  precipitated  themselves  upon  him.  He 
did  not  wait  their  onslaught.  Girot  had  so 
maneuvered  as  to  be  behind  two  others.  The 
gun  barrel  fell  crashing  upon  the  neck  of  one, 
and  he  was  done  for;  and  although  the  next 
Indian  stabbed  the  cattleman  full  in  the  side,  he 
was  knocked  down  like  a  batted  ball  by  a  mighty 
sweep  of  the  club  of  steel.  The  next  second, 
casting  away  his  club,  and  resorting  to  the  oldest 

305 


THE  WEST  WIND 

weapon  of  all,  his  naked  hands,  like  a  storm  beat- 
ing against  a  wall,  the  big  Berserker  leaped 
upon  the  Half  Breed,  receiving  from  him  a  shot 
in  the  breast  as  he  did  so.  There  was  not  time 
to  press  the  revolver  trigger  again. 

The  mongrel  struck  him  over  the  head  with 
a  hatchet  as  he  came  on,  but  that  leap  could  no 
more  be  stopped  than  the  human  hand  could  stay 
the  avalanche.  Winding  his  great^arms  about 
the  Half  Breed,  crushing  him  relentlessly 
against  his  bloody  breast,  seizing  him  in  a  very 
death  grip,  the  cattleman  fell  with  his  enemy 
locked  in  his  loving  embrace  in  the  midst  of  a 
confused  heap  of  Indians.  They  reeled  over 
and  over  on  the  rocks,  writhing  in  a  death 
grapple  and  agony,  while  the  savages  crowded 
around  and  strove  in  desperate  hurry  and  confu- 
sion to  stab  the  white  conqueror. 

In  the  mouth  of  the  pass,  Amy  with  Mah- 
wissa  watched  the  scene  horror  stricken.  When 
Sullivan  had  leaped  outside,  Amy,  at  last  break- 
ing from  the  Indian  woman's  detaining  grasp, 
had  run  to  the  entrance.  She  stood  there,  her 
right  hand  clutching  the  knife,  waiting.  She 
saw  Sullivan's  last  mad,  splendid  rush.  She 

306 


THE  BERSERKER 

saw  him  clutch  the  Half  Breed.  She 
saw  them  go  down  in  the  midst  of  the  multitude 
of  hurtling,  yelling,  stabbing,  frenzied  figures. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  she  raise  the  knife. 
With  her  left  hand  she  tore  open  her  ragged 
waist,  exposing  her  white  bosom  to  the  light. 

"Show  me  where!"  she  said  to  the  Indian 
woman. 

"Here!"  answered  Mah-wissa,  laying  her 
brown  fingers  over  her  sister's  throbbing  heart 


307 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

one  second  she  stayed  her  hand;  for 
one  blessed  second.  No  one  had  yet  no- 
ticed her.  There  would  still  be  time.  As  she 
waited,  reluctant  to  drive  home  he1*  ^nife,  an- 
other sound  broke  suddenly  on  her  ear.  Cheers ! 
good,  hearty,  American  cheers!  Faint  yet  dis- 
tinct she  heard  them.  No  angel  voices  ever 
sounded  sweeter  to  human  hearing  than  they! 

Reckless  of  consequences  now,  she  sprang  clear 
of  the  entrance  and  looked  down  the  valley.  A 
few  hundred  yards  away  horsemen  were  ap- 
proaching at  a  wild  gallop.  Rifle  shots  volleyed. 
The  writhing  group  over  the  two  prostrate 
figures  dissolved  as  if  by  magic.  Bullets  tore 
through  them.  Savages  shrieked  and  fell.  The 
surviving  Indians  turned  and  fled  to  their  ponies. 

The  Half  Breed  disengaged  himself  with  one 
final  mighty  wrench  from  the  failing  grasp  of 
the  cattleman  and  struggled  to  his  feet.  He  was 

308 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

the  last  to  arise.  Although  he  was  last  and 
therefore  nearest  to  the  swift,  approaching  horse- 
men, so  that  his  chances  of  escape  were  poorest, 
envenomed  with  hate,  he  took  time  to  grind  his 
moccasined  heel  into  the  other's  bloody  face. 
He  had  lost  every  weapon  save  the  revolver  that 
hung  at  his  waist.  He  drew  it  with  incredible 
quickness,  fired  one  shot  at  the  two  women,  now 
in  plain  view,  and  another  at  the  nearest  white 
man.  Neither  took  effect.  He  could  not  wait 
for  a  second  try.  He  leaped  to  his  pony  and 
raced  up  the  valley  after  the  flying  Indians. 

A  blue-coated  figure,  straining  forward  on  a 
madly  galloping  horse  on  the  Half  Breed's  trail, 
swept  by  the  two  women  as  a  lightning  flash. 
A  wave  of  his  hand  and  he  was  gone. 

The  place  of  battle  was  at  once  filled  with  a 
tumultuous  crowd  of  cheering,  yelling  men  gal- 
loping like  fiends  after  the  big  bay  horse  on 
which  Kennard  far  in  the  lead  rode  in  pursuit 
of  the  escaping  Indians.  There  was  such  joy, 
such  exultation  in  his  heart — for  he  had  recog- 
nized her,  she  was  safe — as  made  him  fairly 
lift  the  great  bay  thoroughbred  through  the 
air. 

309 


THE  WEST  WIND 

In  their  effort  to  escape,  the  Indians  naturally 
scattered,  hoping  thus  to  divide  the  chase  and 
increase  their  chances.  The  rough  riders  did 
the  same,  each  man  coolly  selecting  his  particular 
quarry.  They  were  all  aware  that  there  was 
probably  no  exit  through  which  a  fugitive  could 
gain  the  upland  before  being  overtaken,  and 
each  man,  having  marked  the  woman,  was  fairly 
drunk  with  the  lust  of  the  fight,  to  kill  those  who 
had  brought  them  to  this  strait.  They  ran  like 
hounds  at  the  end  of  the  hunt,  eager  to  be  in  at 
the  death,  all  thoughts  merged  in  the  mad  de- 
sire to  slay,  kill! 

If  the  Half  Breed  had  thought  to  insure  his 
own  safety  by  his  own  skill,  or  the  swiftness  of 
his  own  steed,  he  was  soon  undeceived.  Well 
mounted  as  he  was,  his  horse  was  not  built  for 
such  a  wild  burst  of  speed  as  the  Captain's 
blooded  animal  was  exhibiting.  In  a  long  chase 
the  Indian  pony  would  have  won,  but  this  was 
to  be  a  short  flight,  and  in  such  the  thorough- 
bred's pace  would  serve  the  purpose  better  than 
the  other  horse's  endurance.  Indeed,  such  was 
the  desperate  determination  of  the  soldier,  thank- 
ing God  as  he  rode,  that  if  his  horse  had  been 

310 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

made  of  wood,  his  own  energy  would  have 
forced  it  on. 

He  was  rapidly  overtaking  the  Half  Breed. 
The  latter  turned  in  his  saddle  and  surveyed  his 
pursuer,  a  sickening  sense  of  fear  filling  his  soul, 
the  more  terrible  because  he  had  thought  it  so 
impossible  that  he  could  be  caught.  A  half  hour 
before  he  had  been  sure  that  he  would  dispose  of 
the  cattleman  easily  and  at  last  possess  the  girl. 
And  he  had  planned  to  mete  out  to  her  such 
treatment  as  he  brutally  fancied  she  merited. 
He  would  have  no  pity  for  her.  But  the  tables 
were  turned  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  And  he 
imagined  that  it  would  be  by  torture  that  his  life 
would  now  be  forfeited.  Sweat,  cold,  clammy, 
beaded  his  brow.  His  beating  heart  was  like 
to  choke  him.  His  cold  hand  fumbled  at  his 
holster.  He  finally  managed  to  draw  from  it 
his  revolver.  There  were  still  three  shots  left 
in  it.  Facing  backward  he  fired  twice  in  rapid 
succession.  Aiming  was  difficult,  however,  and 
both  shots  missed.  The  pursuer  was  coming  up, 
was  almost  upon  him  now. 

Observing  that  no  one  eise  was  pursuing  him, 
he  came  to  a  sudden  resolution.  Swerving  to 


THE  WEST  WIND 

one  side,  he  threw  his  horse  violently  back  on  its 
haunches,  nearly  breaking  its  legs  in  the  process 
as  he  did  so.  He  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  as  Ken- 
nard  bore  down  upon  him,  he  fired  his  last  shot. 
Kennard,  realizing  instantly  what  was  toward 
swung  his  horse  into  the  air  by  a  lift  of  his  pow- 
erful arm.  The  bullet  struck  the  gallant  thor- 
oughbred full  in  the  chest.  His  race  was  over. 
Fully  prepared,  Kennard  plunged  to  one  side, 
disengaging  his  feet  from  the  stirrups,  and  as  the 
horse  fell  forward,  he  leaped  to  the  ground. 

The  two  men  confronted  each  other,  the 
soldier  revolver  in  hand.  The  Half  Breed,  sev- 
eral shades  whiter  than  he  had  ever  been  before, 
stood  composedly  enough  outwardly,  awaiting 
the  doom  so  surely  coming.  Yet  he  had  not  alto- 
gether given  up  hope.  It  is  the  disadvantage  of 
the  gentleman,  endowed  with  all  the  finer  feel- 
ings, in  dealing  with  the  blackguard  who  has 
none,  that  one  is  susceptible  to  appeal  to  that 
honor  which  the  other  does  not  possess. 

"I  Ve  got  you  at  last!"  gritted  out  Kennard, 
raising  his  revolver,  "and  now  you  '11  pay!" 

Instantly  the  Half  Breed  widely  opened  his 
arms  and  showed  his  empty  hands. 

312 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

"I  am  unarmed,  Monsieur,"  he  courteously 
remonstrated, — singular  how  he  could  sometimes 
look  like  a  gentleman !  "Would  you  shoot  a  de- 
fenseless man?" 

"By  God!"  cried  the  Captain,  passionately, 
dropping  his  revolver  to  his  feet,  his  face  con- 
vulsed by  all  the  accumulated  fury  and  hate  of 
the  week,  "I  don't  need  anything  but  my  naked 
hands  for  a  murderer  and  an  abductor  of 
women!" 

The  Half  Breed  laughed  easily.  Those  mor- 
dant words  did  not  touch  him.  His  appeal  was 
being  met  as  he  would  have  it.  The  next  mo- 
ment the  soldier  was  upon  him.  Kennard  was 
of  slight  build;  his  appearance  more  delicate 
than  his  real  strength.  The  Half  Breed,  who  had 
just  sustained  the  grapple  of  a  giant  like  Sulli- 
van, fancied  contemptuously,  that  he  could  easily 
dispose  of  the  much  less  mighty  soldier,  but  hate 
long  entertained,  despair  long  indulged,  hope 
suddenly  enjoyed,  transformed  the  white  man. 
And  the  pure  blood,  as  ever,  was  to  master  that 
which  was  mixed  and  debased.  That  sneering 
laugh  was  the  last  that  ever  broke  from  the  lips 
of  the  mongrel.  The  two  closed  instantly,  the 

3*3 


THE  WEST  WIND 

Half  Breed  biting  and  snarling  like  a  tiger  cat, 
while  the  soldier  did  his  fighting  silently  but 
terribly. 

Kennard  had  been  a  famous  wrestler  at  the 
Point.  Presently  he  caught  the  Half  Breed, 
who  knew  little  of  the  game  and  had  trusted  to 
brute  strength  and  agility,  in  a  desperate  and  un- 
breakable lock.  Although  the  latter  clung  to  the 
American  with  the  tightness  of  the  writhing 
python  to  its  would-be  victim,  Kennard,  slowly, 
steadily,  irresistibly  tore  him  loose,  and  by  an  ef- 
fort that  even  the  herculean  Sullivan  could  not 
have  bettered,  suddenly,  with  one  final  mighty 
wrench  lifted  him  in  the  air.  The  bitterness  of 
defeat  and  death  were  in  the  Half  Breed's  heart 
for  one  swift  second  as  the  soldier  ruthlessly 
flung  him  far  from  him,  to  fall  crushed,  bruised, 
broken,  dying  on  the  rocks  below. 

The  man  was  still  alive,  when  Kennard,  pale, 
panting  for  breath,  his  clothing  torn  by  the  vio- 
lence of  the  brief  struggle,  bent  over  him.  He 
was  unconscious,  however,  his  back  was  broken, 
his  head  was  crushed ;  he  would  soon  die.  Ken- 
nard composed  the  limbs  of  his  dying  antagonist, 
and  stood  watching  him  until  one  of  his  men  rode 

3H 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

up.     Shots  here  and  there  throughout  the  valley 
indicated  what  was  happening  elsewhere. 

"Are  you  all  right,  Cap'n?"  the  man  ap- 
proaching cried  anxiously. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer,  as  the  officer  turned 
and  faced  old  Johnson. 

"Who  have  you  got  there?  By  God!  it 's  the 
Half  Breed!"  He  leaped  from  his  horse  as  he 
spoke,  and  drew  his  pistol.  "I  '11  finish  him." 

Kennard  interposed  with  a  quiet  word  of 
command. 

"He  is  finished  now.  Don't  shoot  him.  His 
back  is  broken  and  his  head  crushed." 

"Might  as  well  put  him  out  of  his  misery 
then,"  sneered  the  other  in  a  mockery  in  which 
there  was  no  pity. 

The  soldier  shook  his  head. 

"Stay  here  with  him  till  he  dies.  You  prom- 
ise me  you  won't  shoot  him?" 

"Why,  what  the  hell!— " 

"You  promise  me!  Remember  you  are  under 
orders!" 

"Oh,  very  well,"  Johnson  answered  sulkily. 
"I  '11  nuss  him  like  a  sick  baby  'til  he  goes  to 
hell,  damn  him!" 

315 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"When  he  is  dead,  come  back  and  tell  me. 
May  I  have  your  horse?" 

Then,  with  nerves  wrung,  his  heart  throbbing 
from  the  wild  adventure,  Kennard  unsteadily 
mounted  the  other's  horse. 

"Be  you  hurt,  Cap'n?"  asked  Johnson  some- 
what anxiously. 

"No,  why?" 

"You  look  so  white  and — " 

"I  had  a  hard  tussle  with  him." 

"I  seen  it,"  said  the  cowboy;  "1 'd  just  finished 
my  particular  buck" — he  lifted  a  gory  scalp 
from  his  belt — "an'  I  noticed  you  strugglin'  with 
him.  I  seen  you  pick  him  up  and  throw  him 
from  you  like  a  ball.  God!  It  was  magnifi- 
cent! Sullivan,  himself,  couldn't  have  done 
better." 

"Where  is  he,  by  the  way?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  saw  the  women?" 

"Yep,  Miss  Benham  and  a  squaw." 

"They  looked  all  right?" 

"All  right  to  me." 

The  weary  Captain  started  the  weary  horse 
back  toward  the  cave.  There  was  a  little  group 

316 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

around  it  when  he  drew  rein  and  slipped  down. 
Mah-wissa  stood  at  the  foot  of  a  gory,  gigantic 
figure,  a  mass  of  blood  and  rags,  save  his  face, 
which  Amy  Benham,  with  the  sleeve  torn  from 
her  waist,  had  washed  free  from  blood  with  the 
water  her  Indian  sister  brought.  Kennard 
recognized  his  rival  at  once.  There  was  that  in 
Sullivan's  condition  which  obliterated  all 
rancor,  all  resentment,  all  earthly  strife  of  what- 
soever degree. 

"Thank  God!"  cried  the  Captain  fervently, 
stepping  near  them,  "that  we  have  found  you!" 

Amy  Benham,  who  was  sitting  on  the  ground 
with  Sullivan's  head  on  her  knee,  looked  up,  her 
eyes  swimming  with  tears,  an  expression  on  her 
countenance  that  no  man  could  mistake.  Even 
the  dying  Sullivan  saw  it. 

"You   see,"   he   faltered,   "your  prayers   did 


count." 


"Yes,"  said  the  woman  softly,  "my  prayers 
and  your  fighting." 

"It  was  a  good  fight,"  said  the  big  rancher, 
"eh,  Captain?" 

"Such  a  fight  as  I  have  never  heard  of,"  an- 
swered Kennard  heartily.  "There  were  eight 

317 


THE  WEST  WIND 

dead  Indians  lying  about  on  the  slope!  Did 
you  kill  them  all?" 

"If  I  'd  had  any  other  weapon  than  a  busted 
gun  I  could  have  done  better." 

"You  did  heroically  with  what  you  had! 
How  do  you  feel?" 

"I  'm  done  for." 

"As  bad  as  that!"  asked  the  soldier,  kneeling 
down  and  laying  his  hand  upon  the  other  man's 
wrist. 

"All  in,"  said  the  cattleman,  faintly.  He 
closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  "The  Half 
Breed?"  he  broke  out  suddenly. 

"I  got  him!"  answered  Kennard  concisely. 

"I  did  my  best  to  kill  him.  They  were  too 
many  for  me.  Is  he  dead?" 

"Yes,"  said  old  Johnson,  at  this  moment  dis- 
mounting from  a  pony  he  had  caught  and 
upon  which  he  had  ridden  up  unobserved.  "He 
died  cursing  you  all." 

"And  you?"  asked  the  Captain. 

"I  let  him  curse  on.  How  is  it  with  you, 
Pat?"  he  continued,  kneeling  by  his  old  friend, 
his  face  working  with  grief  he  could  not  re- 
press. 

318 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

"It  is  well  with  me,  I  guess,"  was  the  answer. 
"Kennard,"  he  spoke  with  sudden  sharpness,  "I 
called  you  a  coward.  I  'm  sorry!" 

"That  from  as  brave  a  man  as  you  are,"  said 
Kennard  gently,  "is  more  than  enough." 

"Miss  Amy,"  said  Sullivan,  with  a  little  smile 
on  his  lips,  "you  kissed  me  before  the  battle  in 
the  pass — I  'm  going  now — will  you  kiss  me 
again?  Kennard  won't  mind." 

"No,"  said  Kennard  quickly. 

Amy  shifted  her  position  and  bent  over  and 
kissed  him  softly  on  the  lips,  the  tears  raining 
upon  his  face  as  she  did  so.  On  either  side  Ken- 
nard and  Johnson  knelt.  Back  of  the  party 
Mah-wissa  stood  with  folded  arms,  the  canteen 
lying  at  her  feet.  Around  the  dying  man  lay  the 
gory  trophies  of  his  prowess.  Cattleman,  rough 
riders,  seeing  the  little  group,  rode  up  from  here 
and  there,  dismounted,  took  off  their  hats  and 
stood  staring  in  awe-struck  grief.  The  ranch 
boss  noticed  them,  smiled  faintly  at  them,  even 
lifted  his  hand  toward  them  in  a  brave  gesture 
of  farewell. 

"Won't  some  one — say — a  prayer?"  faltered 
Sullivan  at  last,  and  from  Amy  Benham's  !ips 

319 


THE  WEST  WIND 

slowly  fell  these  solemn  yet  broken  words  on  the 
still  air — the  old  familiar  prayer  of  commenda- 
tion for  the  dying. 

How  glad  she  was  that  she  had  been  made  to 
learn  that  and  most  of  the  other  prayers  of  her 
dear  Church  by  heart  when  she  was  a  child. 

"O  Almighty  God,  with  whom  do  live  the  spirits  of  just 
men  made  perfect,  after  they  are  delivered  from  their  earthly 
prisons:  We  humbly  commend  the  soul  of  this  thy  servant, 
our  dear  brother,  into  thy  hands,  as  into  the  hands  of  a 
faithful  Creator,  and  most  merciful  Saviour;  most  humbly 
beseeching  thee,  that  it  may  be  precious  in  thy  sight" — 

The  white-faced  woman,  the  dark,  stern  visage 
of  Mah-wissa,  Kennard's  troubled  face,  John- 
son's rough  countenance  working,  the  rough, 
awe-struck  men  grouped  about,  some  of  them 
wet-eyed,  the  savage  dead  in  their  gay  apparel, 
making  vivid  spots  of  color  on  the  brown  rock. 
The  woman's  voice  faltered  on — 

"Wash  it,  we  pray  thee,  in  the  blood  of  that  immaculate 
Lamb,  that  was  slain  to  take  away  the  sins  of  the  world, 
that  whatsoever  defilements  it  may  have  contracted  in  the 
midst  of  this  miserable  and  naughty  world,  through  the  lusts 
of  the  flesh,  or  the  wiles  of  Satan,  being  purged  and  done 
away,  it  may  be  presented  pure  and  without  spot  before 
thee;  through  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ,  thine  only  Son, 
our  i^ord." 

320 


"OVER  THE  RANGE" 

Sullivan  opened  his  eyes  at  last.  He  turned 
his  head  and  gazed  fixedly  into  the  face  of  the 
woman  he  loved ;  the  voice  that  had  gone  on  so 
slowly  repeating  the  old  prayer  graven  in  her 
heart,  stopped. 

"Amen!"  said  the  big  man  suddenly,  col- 
lapsing in  her  arms. 

Amen  indeed!  What  had  the  girl  said  to 
him  ere  he  ventured  his  life  in  that  last  great 
effort  for  her  in  the  pass : 

"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this;  that  a  man  lay 
down  his  life  for  his  friends" 

And  that  was  thy  epitaph,  O  Man  of  the 
Great  West,  there  in  the  dying  day  in  that  lost 
valley. 


321 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BELOVED 

THE  day  was  now  far  spent.  The  soul  of 
the  cattleman  had  gone  out  with  the  set  of 
the  sun.  The  night  would  soon  be  at  hand.  In 
the  saddle  since  four  in  the  morning,  Kennard's 
men  had  had  a  long  and  exhausting  ride  and  a 
hard  fight  at  the  end  of  it.  The  women  were  in 
no  condition  to  travel  without  food  and  rest; 
which  they  could  now  take  in  security  for  the 
first  time  in  many  days.  Their  presence  con- 
stituted a  problem  with  which  Kennard  was  not 
prepared  to  deal  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 
He  wanted  time  for  reflection  before  determin- 
ing what  to  do  with  them  and  his  command. 
Therefore  he  decided  to  make  camp  for  the 
night  where  he  was  in  the  valley. 

A  quick  muster  of  the  men  disclosed  the  fact 
that  two  of  them  were  not  present.  Detailing 
a  strong  party  under  Chambers  to  search  the 
valley  and  ascertain  what  had  become  of  them  if 

322 


BELOVED 

possible,  he  directed  the  rest  to  move  down  to 
the  river,  picket  the  horses,  kindle  a  fire,  cook 
supper  and  prepare  to  pass  the  night. 

These  orders  were  soon  carried  out,  haver- 
sacks were  opened,  and  presently  the  fragrant 
aroma  of  boiling  coffee  and  frying  bacon  indi- 
cated that  the  rude  frontier  meal  was  being  made 
ready.  Under  other  circumstances  Amy  Ben- 
ham  would  have  been  so  crushed  by  the  death 
of  her  friend,  that  she  would  have  been  unable 
to  eat,  but  her  hunger  and  that  of  her  red  sister 
was  positively  wolfish.  Almost  every  other 
emotion  was  merged  and  lost  in  the  frantic  ani- 
mal craving  for  food. 

She  had  indeed  collapsed  physically  after  the 
farewell  of  Sullivan.  She  had  gone  through 
so  many  and  such  varied  emotions  in  that  day 
and  the  days  preceding.  She  had  looked  death 
so  closely  in  the  face  in  the  last  hour  and  these 
things  had  come  as  a  culmination  to  the  hard 
experiences  of  the  past  week.  She  could 
scarcely  contain  herself.  She  was  completely 
unwomaned.  Helpless,  weak,  sick  and  hungry 
' — starved  I 

Kennard's  emotions  when  he  began  to  take 
323 


THE  WEST  WIND 

thought  about  the  present  situation  were  decid- 
edly mixed.  There  was  great  joy  in  his  heart 
that  she  had  been  rescued  unharmed.  There 
was  an  intense  satisfaction  that  he  had  been  per- 
mitted to  execute  that  vengeance  so  richly 
merited  on  the  Half  Breed.  There  was  sincere 
and  genuine  regret  over  the  loss  of  the  splendid 
man  who  had  died  for  the  woman  he  loved,  and 
there  was  a  fierce  pang  of  jealousy  lest  that  same 
woman's  heart  would  be  buried  in  the  grave  with 
the  departed  hero. 

His  manner  with  her  was,  nevertheless,  as  ten- 
der as  that  of  a  woman.  She  was  not  a  heroine 
of  romance  in  her  appearance  at  least.  Her 
clothing — she  had  worn  a  light  summer  gown 
on  that  eventful  morning — was  stained  and 
soiled.  It  hung  in  rags  about  her.  Her  poor 
little  feet,  save  for  ragged  bandages,  were  bare. 
She  was  spattered  with  blood.  She  was  gaunt 
and  haggard  from  her  exposure  and  anxiety. 
Her  beautiful  hair  hung  in  a  matted  mass  over 
her  brow.  She  was  a  pitiable  spectacle.  Yet, 
he  loved  her.  He  worshiped  the  ground  she 
trod  upon.  He  would  have  given  the  world  to 
take  her  poor  little  bruised  and  bleeding  feet 

324 


BELOVED 

in  his  hands  and  kiss  them  well  again.  She 
was  a  child  to  him.  She  clung  to  him  in  her 
weakness  as  a  child  might  have  done.  She  suf- 
fered him  to  do  what  he  would  for  her. 

There  was  no  surgeon  with  the  command  to 
care  for  her.  Finally  he,  himself,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Mah-wissa,  brought  from  his  saddle- 
bags, woolen  socks  which  he  bound  around  her 
feet  after  washing  them  and  applying  such  sooth- 
ing compound  to  her  bruises  as  the  medicine 
chest  afforded.  From  some  of  the  dead  Indians 
they  secured  moccasins  for  her.  His  own 
blanket  he  put  at  her  disposal.  She  could  have 
had  the  blankets  of  the  whole  troop  if  she  had 
but  said  the  word. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  he  himself  fed  her 
sparingly,  gradually  satisfying  her  appetite. 
He  did  not  presume  to  speak  one  word  of  love  to 
her,  but  she  was  not  so  devoid  of  her  usual 
keenness  of  .perception  as  not  to  see  in  every  ac- 
tion, in  every  word,  his  unbounded  and  over- 
whelming devotion,  and  she  was  neither  so  tired 
nor  so  wretched  as  to  be  insensible  to  it.  In- 
deed, in  spite  of  her  misery,  she  thrilled  to  it. 
To  be  cared  for  with  such  exceeding  tenderness 

325 


THE  WEST  WIND 

filled  her  soul  with  satisfaction  that  was  more 
grateful  and  helpful  to  her  than  rest. 

After  the  supper,  which  she  thought  all  too 
scanty  for  her  needs,  but  which  was  as  much 
as  he  dared  to  give  her,  and  after  drinking  a 
fragrant  cup  of  coffee  which  had  been  handed 
to  her,  she  felt  better,  and  the  change  mani- 
fested itself  first  of  all  in  her  anxiety  over  her 
appearance.  He  had  a  few  necessaries  in  his 
saddlebags:  a  pocket  comb,  a  piece  of  soap,  a 
handkerchief  or  two.  Mah-wissa  and  she  went 
back  to  the  cave  and  when  she  came  back  into 
the  firelight  she  looked  another  woman.  The 
tangled  hair  was  coiled  neatly,  a  handkerchief 
was  bound  round  her  neck.  With  his  housewife 
she  had  effected  some  change  in  her  torn  and 
tattered  bodice.  She  walked  with  a  firmer  step, 
putting  out  her  hand  to  him  frankly  and  freely 
where  he  stood  waiting  for  her  between  the 
mountains  and  the  camp. 

There  was  one  duty  still  to  be  performed. 
He  feared  it  would  be  a  hard  duty  for  her,  yet 
it  must  be  done.  Chambers'  party  had  returned, 
bearing  with  them  the  bodies  of  two  of  the  white 
men,  whose  hard  fortune  it  had  been  to  meet 

326 


BELOVED 

death  at  the  hands  of  those  they  pursued.  One 
or  two  others  had  been  slightly  wounded,  yet  not 
severely  enough  to  prevent  their  going  on  in  the 
morning  if  necessary. 

So  far  as  the  scouting  party  could  tell,  few, 
if  any,  of  the  Indians  had  escaped.  The  place 
was  full  of  dead  bodies.  There  must  have  been 
two-score  of  them.  They  would  have  to  be  left 
where  they  were.  Under  the  circumstances,  it 
was  necessary  to  bury  where  they  fell  the  men 
of  their  own  command  who  had  been  killed,  and 
do  it  without  delay.  There  was  no  way  of  carry- 
ing the  dead.  The  merciless  demands  of  the  liv- 
ing must  be  thought  of  first.  Sullivan,  too, 
would  have  to  lie  with  his  friends  in  the  valley 
he  had  immortalized  by  his  valor.  Kennard 
told  her  this  gently  and  she  said  she  must  see  it 
all. 

Kennard  was  a  Churchman.  In  his  pocket 
he  always  carried  a  little  Book  of  Common 
Prayer.  The  camp  had  been  pitched  by  the  side 
of  the  river,  over  a  mile  from  the  bluffs,  and 
right  in  the  middle  of  the  amphitheater.  The 
river  was  a  shallow  stream ;  its  sandy  bed,  almost 
devoid  of  water,  was  about  one  hundred  and 

327 


THE  WEST  WIND 

fifty  yards  wide.  Near  where  they  camped 
there  was  a  low  island  with  a  tall,  magnificent 
pine  tree,  solitary,  at  the  upper  and  higher  end. 
The  island  was  fronted  and  covered  with  under- 
growth. The  water,  not  knee  deep,  flowed 
around  it  on  either  side.  Between  the  water  and 
the  banks  were  broad  expanses  of  hard,  fine  sand. 

Kennard  would  have  preferred  to  bury  Sulli- 
van and  his  two  men  under  the  bluffs,  but  the 
country  was  of  rock  there,  and  he  finally  selected 
the  spot  on  the  island  at  the  foot  of  the  gigantic 
pine  which,  standing  alone  as  it  did,  was  a  not 
unworthy  indication  of  the  strong,  great  man 
destined  to  lie  beneath  its  evergreen  branches. 

It  was  dark  now.  With  their  big  hunting 
knives,  their  tin  pans,  coffee  cups,  whatever  they 
had,  the  men  working  hard  scraped  out  three 
graves,  Sullivan's  in  the  middle  and  the  two 
others  who  had  died  in  his  rescue  on  either  side. 
When  all  was  ready  pine  torches  were  kindled. 
Kennard  took  his  place  under  the  great  tree 
and  read  the  touching  service  for  the  burial  of 
the  dead,  Amy  Benham  by  his  side,  Mah-wissa 
standing  back  of  her,  looking,  in  the  flickering 
uncertain  light,  like  a  brown  shadow,  the  torches 

328 


BELOVED 

smoking  and  flaring,  illuminating  the  serious,  in- 
tent faces  of  the  men  grouped  about. 

They  wrapped  the  bodies  in  the  blankets  of 
the  dead  Indians  and  gently  laid  them  away. 
The  woman's  tears  fell  silently  as  the  Captain 
slowly  repeated  the  solemn  words  of  the  ancient 
ritual.  They  had  put  in  the  big  rancher's  hands, 
she  noticed  before  they  covered  him  up,  the  gun- 
barrel,  blood-stained  and  dented,  with  which  he 
had  fought  his  way  into  eternity,  for  her. 
When  the  graves  had  been  covered,  the  men 
working  as  if  they  had  gone  through,  in  the  long 
day  since  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  nothing 
but  simple  play,  had  brought  huge  stones  and 
made  three  long  heaps  over  each  body,  lest  by 
any  chance  the  wolves  would  come  and  dese- 
crate the  graves. 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  did  they  leave  the 
low  little  island,  and  take  up  their  places  upon 
the  grassy  banks  and  compose  themselves  to 
sleep.  There  were  plenty  of  blankets,  captured 
and  otherwise,  and  in  a  sheltered  spot  beneath 
the  stars,  Kennard  had  made  a  place  for  Amy 
Benham  to  lie.  He  kissed  her  hand  as  he 
bowed  low  before  her  and  bade  her  good  night. 

329 


THE  WEST  WIND 

He  would  have  moved  away  but  she  detained 
him. 

Her  place  was  somewhat  removed  from  the 
main  body  of  the  camp  and  the  fires.  It  was 
pitch  dark  now.  There  was  only  Mah-wissa  to 
see.  The  woman  came  to  a  sudden  resolution. 
She  stepped  close  to  him,  her  body  thrilling,  her 
bosom  heaving  from  his  touch,  her  eyes  shining 
in  the  faint  radiance  of  the  distant  fires,  like  the 
bright  stars  in  the  dark  heaven  above.  He 
could  see  her  face  faintly  lovely  in  the  starry 
night. 

"I  kissed  him,"  she  said,  "because  he  was  dy- 
ing!" 

"Yes." 

He  spoke  gently  enough  but  his  own  pulses 
were  leaping. 

"I  kiss  you  because  you  are  alive  and  because 
you  have  found  me." 

Boldly  she  suited  action  to  word,  and  then  as 
he  suddenly  swept  her  close  to  his  heart,  he 
strained  her  to  him,  giving  back  kisses  for  kisses 
in  a  perfect  flood  of  love  and  feeling. 

"Amy!  Amy!"  he  whispered  brokenly,  "how 
I  love  you!" 

330 


BELOVED 

She  drew  her  lips  away  a  little  after  a  while 
and  laid  her  head  on  his  breast,  and  broke  into 
a  passion  of  weeping.  He  pressed  her  head 
gently,  stroked  her  hair  tenderly,  and  whispered 
soothing  words  to  her.  She  clung  to  him  weak 
and  trembling. 

"Oh,  thank  God!"  she  faltered  at  last,  "that 
you  came;  that  you  have  me  now;  that  I  am  here 
with  you.  You  will  never  let  me  go,  will  you? 
No  one  shall  take  me  away  from  you  again.  I 
have  no  one  but  you  now.  Sullivan  has  gone, 
and  my  father — " 

"To  take  you  for  my  own  has  been  the  one 
wish  of  my  heart  since  I  first  knew  you,"  mur- 
mured the  man  passionately,  holding  her  tight 
as  if  he  would  never  release  her  again.  "I  was 
on  my  way  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  that  morn- 
ing when  the  news  came.  I  could  have  killed 
myself  in  the  canon  when  I  had  to  go  back!" 

"Sullivan  told  me,"  said  the  girl,  suddenly 
now  become  all  a  woman.  "You  did  right.  I 
am  a  soldier's  daughter.  Your  duty  first." 

"No,"  exclaimed  the  man,  "you  first!" 

After  a  little  while  he  tore  himself  away,  al- 
though she  would  fain  have  held  him  with  her, 


THE  WEST  WIND 

reluctant  to  let  him  go;  but  he  knew  that  she 
must  have  sleep,  and  so  he  bade  her  lie  down, 
exacting  a  promise  from  her  that  she  would  do 
her  best  to  get  rest. 

A  long  time  she  lay  staring  in  gratitude  up  at 
the  stars,  until  by  and  by  she  fell  into  the  deep 
and  dreamless  slumber  of  security  and  content. 
Kennard  seemed  made  of  iron.  From  a  little 
distance,  in  the  darkness  he  watched  her,  draw- 
ing nearer  after  a  time.  Finding  she  was  asleep, 
he  approached  her  closely,  bent  over  her,  listen- 
ing to  her  gentle,  placid  breathing.  All  was 
well  with  her,  thank  God! 

Colonel  Morris,  to  whom  the  duty  had  been 
committed,  had  seen  that  sentries  were  properly 
placed.  Roman  Nose  could  not  have  got  so  far 
away  as  to  be  out  of  striking  distance,  and  no  one 
knew  what  other  bands  of  savages  there  might 
be  roving  about.  For  that  reason  the  camp  in 
the  open  had  been  chosen,  where  they  could 
fight  or  fly  with  reasonable  prospects  of  success, 
if  necessary. 

Kennard  visited  these  outposts,  chatting  a  mo- 
ment informally,  observing  as  he  spoke  that  good 
watch  was  kept,  leaving  each  man  with  a 

332 


BELOVED 

friendly  word  of  caution  and  encouragement, 
and  seeing  to  it  himself  that  proper  reliefs  were 
arranged.  Presently  he  went  back,  spread  his 
blanket  some  little  distance  away  from  Amy 
Benham,  but  at  her  feet,  and  with  his  face  turned 
toward  where  she  lay,  dropped  instantly  into 
the  sound  sleep  of  the  tired  soldier. 

The  dawn  was  graying  in  the  east  when  he 
was  suddenly  awakened.  He  rose  on  his  elbow 
with  a  sense  of  having  received  an  alarm.  As 
he  did  so,  he  heard  a  shot,  and  then  a  shrill  voice 
crying: 

"Injins!     Injins!     My  God!     Look  at  'em!n 

He  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of  Meekins. 
The  scout  was  on  his  feet  some  distance  ahead, 
near  one  of  the  sentries,  who  had  just  discharged 
his  rifle.  He  was  pointing  off  to  the  right,  and 
as  he  did  so,  his  arm  swept  around  until  it  ex- 
tended straight  up  the  valley. 

Kennard  by  this  time  was  on  his  feet,  staring 
at  the  bluffs,  finding  them  fairly  alive  with 
savages,  silhouetted  against  the  gray  sky.  They 
could  be  made  out  quite  plainly,  although  the 
distance  was  so  great.  His  eyes  followed 
Meekins'  gesture  to  the  northward.  A  half  mile 

333 


THE  WEST  WIND 

ahead  of  the  camp  the  river  flowed  from  a  thick 
clump  of  trees.  From  these  trees  great  bodies 
of  mounted  Indians,  seen  less  distinctly  in  the 
dim  light,  were  fast  debouching.  They  were 
coming  down  toward  the  river  at  a  rapid  gait. 
A  glance  told  him  there  were  nonf.  off  to  the 
left,  the  westward,  apparently.  At  least,  not 
yet. 


334 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BELEAGUERED 

WHAT  was  to  be  done  now?  Kennard  had 
to  think  hard  and  fast  on  the  instant. 
"Get  the  horses,"  he  cried,  but  as  he  did  so, 
a  hideous  commotion  arose  from  the  makeshift 
corral  where  most  of  the  horses  were  tied  in  a 
long  line.  There  was  a  wild  plunging  and  rear- 
ing. One  horse  tore  himself  loose,  then  the  line 
broke  and  the  whole  body  of  horses  and  pack 
mules  galloped  madly  in  every  direction.  Two 
Indians,  creeping  down  the  river,  had  stampeded 
them.  These  two  daring  braves  paid  for  their 
enterprise.  They  were  shot  dead  instantly. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  main  body  of  warriors 
in  the  valley  ahead  the  horses  could  have  been 
regained  easily  enough,  but  it  was  too  risky  to 
attempt  such  a  thing  under  the  circumstances. 
A  few  of  the  horses  tethered  elsewhere  were 
saved  for  a  little  space. 

335 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"The    mules   with    the    ammunition!"    cried 
Kennard.     "Somebody  look  out  for  them  I" 

As  he  spoke,  two  rifle  shots  rang  out  in  quick 
succession.  Meekins!  The  mules  had  gone 
with  the  rest!  It  so  happened  that  the  man 
whose  business  it  was  to  pack  them,  knowing  that 
four  o'clock  was  the  appointed  hour  for  break- 
ing camp,  had  arisen  betimes  and  had  just  fin- 
ished getting  the  ammunition  chests  on  the  three 
mules  and  the  medicine  chest  on  the  fourth. 
He  had  left  them  for  a  moment,  unfortunately, 
to  return  to  the  camp,  and  they  had  fled  when 
the  other  horses  stampeded.  The  precious  am- 
munition would  all  have  been  lost,  save  for  what 
the  men  carried  on  their  persons,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  quick  thinking  of  the  old  scout.  Knowing 
how  impossible  it  would  be  to  catch  the  mules, 
he  had  shot  two  of  the  galloping  animals,  upon 
whom  he  could  draw  a  bead  as  yet,  dead  in- 
stantly. The  third  and  fourth  got  clear  away. 

The  dead  mules  lay  some  distance  to  the  west- 
ward. 

"Well  done,  Meekins!"  cried  Kennard,  now 
thoroughly  master  of  himself  and  of  the  situa- 
tion. "Volunteers  to  get  those  ammunition 

336 


BELEAGUERED 

boxes,  four  men  to  each  box  and  one  to  com- 
mand. You,  Chambers?  Select  your  eight 
men.  Now,  gentlemen,  get  in  ranks.  Miss 
Benham?" 

"I  am  here,"  said  the  girl,  standing,  with 
Mah-wissa,  by  his  side.  "Are  we  in  any  dan- 
ger?" 

"Not  while  any  of  us  live.  Steady,  men! 
Keep  cool!  They  won't  rush  us  right  away! 
Morris?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Johnson!" 

"Here!" 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"There  must  be  six  hundred  warriors,  if  there 
is  one!"  cried  Morris. 

"Right,"  exclaimed  Meekins. 

"Looks  bad,"  said  Johnson  coolly,  "but  we 
are  here  to  do  what  you  say." 

"We  will  cross  the  river  to  the  island." 

Kennard  looked  toward  the  bluffs,  for  the  mo- 
ment wondering  whether  he  could  make  a  bet- 
ter stand  with  his  back  to  them,  and  rapidly  con- 
cluded that  the  island  was  his  best  position. 
Besides,  he  would  have  to  make  a  running  fight 

337 


THE  WEST  WIND 

to  get  to  the  bluffs,  whereas  the  island  was  but 
a  few  paces  away. 

"Johnson !" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Take  a  dozen  men  and  go  over  to  the  other 
bank  and  cover  those  men  bringing  back  the  am- 
munition chests.  The  rest  of  you  take  position 
on  the  island  around  the  pine  tree.  Line  the 
sides,  take  cover  as  much  as  you  can.  Those 
that  have  horses  bring  them  along.  When  they 
are  killed  they  will  serve  as  breastworks  and  if 
the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  they  will  give  us 
food.  Now,  Miss  Benham!" 

He  took  her  by  the  hand,  Mah-wissa  follow- 
ing, and  the  whole  command  scrambled  down 
the  low  bank,  tramped  through  the  sand, 
splashed  through  the  river,  and  gained  the 
island,  those  who  had  horses  leading  them  over. 
The  whole  movement  took  much  less  time  than 
is  required  to  tell  about  it. 

They  would  have  been  attacked  directly  had 
not  the  dash  of  Chambers  and  his  men  for  the 
ammunition  boxes  provided  a  diversion  to  the 
island  retreat.  The  Indian  Chief  detached  a 
heavy  force  to  intercept  these  men,  but  Cham- 

338 


BELEAGUERED 

bers  and  the  frontiersmen  did  n't  lose  any  time. 
They  grabbed  up  the  heavy  chests  and  came 
back  toward  the  island  on  a  dead  run. 

Meanwhile  Johnson  and  his  detachment 
gained  the  bank,  deployed  and  opened  fire  with 
their  heavy  Winchesters  as  the  Indians  came 
in  range,  knocking  some  of  them  off  their  horses. 
Under  cover  of  this  confusion  the  whole  party 
finally  got  back  to  the  others  on  the  island. 
There  was  ammunition  enough  in  the  rescued 
chests,  in  addition  to  what  they  carried  in  their 
cartridge  belts,  for  all  practical  purposes, 
especially  if  it  were  husbanded;  and  the  men 
on  that  island  were  not  men  to  throw  away  any 
shots,  or  to  waste  precious  cartridges  voluntar- 
ily. 

They  had  succeeded  in  saving  perhaps  a 
dozen  horses,  including  those  of  the  officers, 
which  had  been  tied  in  a  different  place  from 
the  large  corral.  They  haltered  these  about  in 
the  thick  undergrowth  around  the  island,  know- 
ing that  the  poor  beasts  would  soon  be  shot,  but 
while  they  lived  they  would  afford  some  pro- 
tection to  the  troop. 

The  soil  of  the  island  was  sandy.     It  rose  on 

339 


THE  WEST  WIND 

an  average  not  more  than  three  or  four  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  stream.  There  was  no 
cover  except  the  big  pine  where  it  was  highest. 
Between  two  of  the  long  piles  of  stones  marking 
the  graves  of  the  three  dead,  Kennard  had 
placed  the  woman  he  loved.  Next  to  her  in 
the  corresponding  shallow  he  put  Mah-wissa. 
The  Indian  woman  strongly  objected  to  this,  but 
she  succumbed  to  his  stern  gestures.  Saddles,  of 
which  two  or  three  had  been  brought,  were  piled 
in  front  of  these  two  hollows  against  the  pine 
tree.  The  women  were  told  to  lie  down  at  the 
peril  of  life.  So  long  as  they  lay  down  they 
were  comparatively  safe,  except  from  a  plung- 
ing fire.  A  rapid  glance  at  either  bank  of  the 
stream  convinced  Kennard's  practiced  eye  that 
not  much  shelter  would  be  needed  to  protect 
them  from  that.  The  safety  of  the  women  at- 
tended to,  he  looked  to  his  men. 

They  had  scattered  themselves  around  in  a 
circle,  tangent  at  its  upper  end  to  the  pine  tree. 
They  were  hidden  somewhat  from  observation 
by  the  bushes,  but  these  afforded  no  protection 
from  shots.  The  Indians  would  undoubtedly 
line  the  banks  with  riflemen  and  the  island 


BELEAGUERED 

would  be  swept  by  bullets  as  with  a  besom  with- 
out delay. 

"Every  man,"  said  Kennard,  rectifying  the 
line  here  and  there,  "will  lie  down  on  his  face 
at  once  and  make  himself  a  rifle  pit.  Scoop  the 
earth  out  from  in  front  of  you  with  your  hands, 
tin  pans,  cups,  knives,  or  whatever  you  Ve  got, 
and  pile  it  up  and  keep  slipping  backwards  un- 
til you  have  made  a  hole  as  long  as  you  are. 
Then  creep  forward  and  you  will  be  under  cover 
and  sheltered.  Quick!  They'll  be  on  us  in  a 


moment." 


He  had  scarcely  spoken  before  sharp  volleys 
rang  out  from  either  bank  and  a  perfect  hail  of 
bullets  swept  over  the  island.  Every  horse  was 
shot.  Some  were  only  wounded,  and  their  wild 
screams,  most  hideous  of  battle  noises,  mingled 
with  the  rapid  rattle  of  rifle  fire  and  the  yells  of 
the  Indians.  Some  of  the  wounded  animals 
plunged  so  wildly  at  their  halters  that  the  troop- 
ers themselves  shot  them  to  put  them  out  of 
their  misery. 

The  first  discharge  had  not  brought  any 
casualty,  perhaps  on  account  of  the  horses;  but 
when  they  fell,  and  a  clear  sweep  over  the  island 


THE  WEST  WIND 

was  thus  made,  the  next  volley  was  marked  by 
a  shriek  of  agony.  The  scout  nearest  the  Cap- 
tain had  been  hit  and  was  terribly  wounded. 

"Where 's  the  medicine  chest?"  cried  Ken- 
nard. 

"I  reckon  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Injins," 
answered  Johnson.  "You  see,  Noble,,  whose 
business  it  was  to  look  after  it,  was  killed  last 
night." 

Kennard  shook  his  head.  There  was  no  use 
repining.  He  bent  over  the  scout.  As  he  did 
so  a  bullet  ripped  across  his  bended  back, 
tearing  his  coat,  but  not  otherwise  harming 
him. 

"Lie  down,  Cap'n  Kennard!"  cried  Johnson. 

"Yep,  take  cover!"  called  one  of  the  men. 

"If  you  don't  git  down  yourself,  we  '11  all  git 
up,"  cried  a  third. 

Kennard  had  been  standing  up,  encouraging 
his  men.  Why  he  had  not  already  been  hit  was 
a  marvel.  The  underbrush,  which  was  falling 
like  grass  before  a  mower,  under  the  sheets  of 
lead  the  Indians  poured  upon  the  island,  had 
perhaps  afforded  him  concealment. 

"Captain  Kennard!"  cried  Amy,  sitting  up  in 
342 


BELEAGUERED 

her  recess,  "if  you  don't  lie  down  I  will  come 
and  stand  by  your  side!" 

Thus  adjured,  Kennard  sank  to  his  knees. 

"Get  downl"  he  cried,  surprised,  if  he  had 
thought  of  it,  at  the  harshness  in  his  voice,  as  he 
looked  at  Amy  Benham. 

He  next  turned  toward  the  men,  who  had 
risen  to  their  knees. 

"Downl"  he  cried.  "By  Heavens!"  as  there 
seemed  to  be  some  hesitation  in  compliance,  "I 
will  have  obedience  on  this  island." 

"We  only  want  to  git  you  down,  too,  Cap'n," 
protested  one  of  the  men. 

"I  '11  look  out  for  myself,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
am  here  to  look  out  for  all  of  you.  Now,  men, 
when  you  see  an  Indian,  fire,  but  don't  shoot  un- 
less you  do.  We  must  make  every  shot  tell  and 
waste  nothing.  You  will  have  plenty  of  chances 
before  we  get  through  with  this.  Mind!  no 
reckless  firing!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  went  crawling  about  the  little 
circle,  repeating  his  words.  When  he  came 
abreast  of  Meekins,  whose  rifle  had  just  been 
discharged,  the  scout  remarked,  with  grim  satis- 
faction: 

343 


THE  WEST  WIND 


"Well,  I  got  one  of  ' 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Meekins?" 

"I  ain't  had  much  time  to  think,"  was  the  re- 
ply. "I  guess  we  won't  any  of  us  need  our  think 
tanks  when  we  git  through  with  this." 

"Why  not?" 

"We  won't  any  of  us  have  any  left!"  was  the 
foreboding  answer. 

"How  many  of  them  do  you  suppose  there 
are?" 

"I  calkerlate  there  are  about  six  hundred, 
bucks,  I  mean,  an'  look  at  the  wimmen  an'  chil- 
dern!" 

He  turned  his  head  toward  the  cliffs  and 
foothills,  now  swarming  with  squaws  and  boys 
and  girls. 

"Thank  God,"  said  Kennard,  quickly,  "that 
they  at  least  are  not  armed!" 

"They  '11  be  in  at  the  death  all  right,"  said 
Meekins. 

"Yes;  we  may  have  to  deal  with  them  by 
and  by.  Who  are  they,  do  you  think?" 

"It  '11  be  Roman  Nose's  band,  sure.  They  're 
Cheyennes,  Sioux,  an'  Dog  Soldiers.  They  be- 
long to  him.  The  Half  Breed  an'  them  that 

344 


BELEAGUERED 

was  killed  yesterday  was  a  detachment  of  it. 
It 's  the  same  crowd  we  fought  back  on  the  river. 
You  see  they  Ve  got  their  wimmen  an'  childern 
an'  everything  else  with  'em!" 

"What  do  you  advise?" 

"You  know  as  well  as  I,  Cap'n." 

"Yes,  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  stay  here  and 
fight  it  out  to  the  last  God  help  those  women!" 

"The  squaw  kin  look  out  for  herself.  It 's  the 
white  gal  I  'm  thinkin'  of!" 

"And  I !     There  's  no  way  of  our  getting  out!" 

"None  on  earth!" 

"Men,"  said  Kennard,  raising  his  voice,  "we 
have  nothing  to  do  but  stay  here  and  fight  it  out. 
We  are  never  going  to  let  those  Indians  get  hold 
of  Miss  Benham!" 

"You  bet  your  life  we  ain't,  Cap'n!" 

"I  will  give  her  a  revolver,  and  if  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  the  last  man  must  save  a  shot 
for  her." 

"Two  shots,"  exclaimed  old  Colonel  Morris, 
"one  for  her  and  one  for  himself." 

"We  're  not  all  in  yet,  Miss  Benham,"  cried  a 
third.  "There  '11  be  some  dead  Injins  before 
they  git  you!" 

345 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"We  '11  die  fer  you  right  here  on  our  bellies 
on  this  island,"  yelled  a  fourth. 

This  conversation  was  not  continuous.  It  was 
punctured  at  frequent  and  irregular  intervals 
by  rapid  but  harmless  discharges  from  the  In- 
dians, and  sharp,  sudden  cracks  from  the  rifles 
of  the  men.  The  bushes  had  all  been  mowed 
down  by  this  time,  or  so  thinned  as  to  afford  no 
concealment.  The  island  was  covered  with 
smoke.  In  the  midst  of  the  commotion  the  sun 
shone  suddenly  and  brilliantly  up  behind  the 
eastern  range,  filling  the  valley  with  golden 
light. 

By  this  time,  in  his  crawling  inspection  tour, 
Kennard  had  reached  Amy  Benham  again. 

"Don't  move  or  raise  your  head,"  he  said 
softly,  laying  his  hands  on  her  feet.  "I  will  slide 
this  extra  Winchester  along  until  you  can  get 
hold  of  it,  and  at  your  feet  as  far  as  I  can  push 
it  to  you,  is  a  spare  revolver.  There  is  one  for 
you,  too,  Mah-wissa,  in  case  you  wish  to  fight." 

"Me  fight  for  Amee!"  answered  the  squaw, 
reaching  out  her  hand  to  clutch  the  rifle. 

"Will  we  ever  get  out  of  this  alive?"  asked  the 
white  sister. 

346 


BELEAGUERED 

"I  don't  know.  I  pray  God  so!  It  is  too 
terrible  to  think  that  you  should  be  rescued  last 
night  only  for  this!" 

"At  least  we  are  together!" 

"Yes,  and  the  last  cartridge  on  the  island  will 
be  for  you.  We  will  never  let  you  fall  into 
their  hands  alive." 

"I  will  save  one  myself  for  that,"  said  the 
girl  resolutely.  "Indeed,  I  had  the  point  of  my 
knife  at  my  heart  when  you  swept  by  last  night." 

"I  saw  you.  I  was  wild  with  fear  lest  we 
should  be  a  moment  too  late.  Now,  I  must  go  to 
the  men.  Here  is  my  knife.  I  want  you  to  dig 
down  and  make  your  place  of  concealment 
larger." 

"I  am  so  useless,"  mourned  the  girl. 

"Nonsense,  you  are  the  inspiration  of  us  all. 
We  would  fight  to  the  end  in  any  event,  but  we 
will  fight  harder  with  you  to  protect." 

"We  '11  fight  like  hell  itself,  Miss,"  said  old 
Johnson,  who  was  near,  "an'  all  on  account  of 
you!" 


347 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  LAST  RIDE  OF  THE  CHEYENNES 

AS  the  morning  wore  on,  the  battle  became 
faster  and  more  furious  on  the  part  of  the 
Indians.  Naturally,  with  their  great  numeri- 
cal superiority,  they  wanted  to  end  things  in  a 
hurry.  The  white  men,  however,  settled  down 
to  make  a  long  fight  of  it. 

During  the  infrequent  intervals  of  firing  they 
dug  the  rifle  pits  deeper  and  deeper.  Gradu- 
ally there  arose  around  the  circle  perhaps 
thirty  or  forty  feet  in  diameter,  a  little  breast- 
work, the  trench  being  on  the  inside,  in  which 
the  men  could  lie.  Before  it  was  completed, 
however,  a  number  of  rough  riders  were  killed, 
and  several  more  or  less  severely  wounded. 
Kennard,  himself,  was  shot  in  the  fleshy  part  of 
his  left  arm,  but  made  little  of  it,  especially 
after  Amy  Benham  had  bound  it  up.  The 
wounded,  some  of  whom  were  terribly  hurt,  suf- 
fered the  most.  The  canteens  of  the  men  had 

348 


THE  LAST  RIDE 

been  filled,  and  water,  muddy  but  drinkable, 
could  be  had  by  digging  deep  enough  in  the  low 
parts  of  the  enclosure,  so  they  were  not  incon- 
venienced from  thirst;  but  there  was  no  surgeon 
and  even  the  small  remedies  that  the  scantily 
provided  medicine  chest  would  have  afforded 
were  impossible  since  it  had  been  lost. 

Amy  Benham,  followed  by  Mah-wissa,  who 
never  parted  from  her  for  a  moment,  crawled 
about  among  the  stricken  men,  doing  what  she 
could  for  them.  Kennard  had  remonstrated 
with  her,  and  had  begged  her  not  to  do  it,  but 
she  told  him  that  she  would  die  of  suspense  and 
inaction  unless  she  were  permitted  to  help,  and 
he  realized  her  influence,  not  merely  upon  the 
wounded  men,  but  upon  the  others.  She  was 
surrounded  by  forty  men  who  loved  her,  for 
there  was  not  a  man  on  that  little  space  of  lost 
ground,  which  she  had  most  appropriately 
named  "Sullivan's  Island,"  who  would  not  have 
died  a  thousand  deaths  for  her. 

Practically  the  island  was  far  enough  from 
the  cliffs  to  render  any  rifle  firing  from  such 
elevation  innocuous.  The  Indians  tried  it,  in- 
deed, but  to  little  avaiL  The  wonted  bad  marks- 

349 


THE  WEST  WIND 

manship  of  the  savage  stood  the  beleaguered  in 
good  stead.  If  the  Cheyennes  had  been  better 
shots,  and  had  been  more  composed  and  care- 
ful, the  Americans  would  have  been  picked  of! 
one  by  one.  It  brought  back  remembrances  of 
days  of  old,  of  which  his  father,  who  also  had 
been  a  soldier,  had  told  him,  when  Kennard  ob- 
served that  several  of  his  men  were  being 
wounded  with  arrows.  The  Indians  essayed  a 
plunging  fire  by  shooting  arrows  into  the  air  and 
dropping  them  into  the  island  enclosure.  So 
soon  as  this  was  resorted  to,  the  men  drew  their 
blankets  over  them,  at  old  Meekins'  suggestion, 
and  some  protection  was  afforded  in  that  way. 

Arrows  dropping  from  the  skies,  bullets 
sweeping  over  them  like  driven  rain,  wounded 
men  groaning  in  pain  and  wild  yells  resounding 
from  every  Indian,  completed  a  scene  of  de- 
moniac horror. 

Kennard  took  his  position  at  the  head  of  the 
island,  which  looked  northward  up  the  valley 
down  which  the  Indians  had  come.  It  was  the 
best  place  whence  to  observe  what  was  going  on, 
and  the  best  place  from  which  to  keep  the 
whole  of  his  little  command  under  his  eye.  Old 

350 


THE  LAST  RIDE 

Colonel  Morris  took  the  lower  part.  Johnson 
looked  after  one  side  and  Chambers  the  other. 

About  noon,  the  fire  from  either  bank,  which 
had  been  practically  continuous,  seemed  to  be 
slackening  a  little.  Meekins  crawled  up  to  the 
young  Captain,  who  was  using  his  rifle  whenever 
he  could  do  so  in  spite  of  his  pain-racked  arm. 

"Cap'n,"  he  said,  "there's  somethin'  up! 
They're  massin'  yonder  around  that  bend!" 

"What  are  they  going  to  do?" 

"I  can't  tell.  If  I  could  git  up  that  pine,"  he 
looked  longingly  at  the  great  tree,  "I  could  git 
a  view  of  the  hull  country.  I  b'lieve  I  '11— 

He  began  to  rise  as  he  spoke.  Kennard  in- 
stantly dragged  him  down  to  the  earth  again. 

"Old  man,"  said  he  grimly,  "you  would  be 
shot  to  pieces  as  soon  as  they  saw  you.  Even 
they  could  not  fail  to  hit  you!" 

"Yep,  I  s'pose  that 's  so,"  admitted  Meekins, 
reluctantly  abandoning  the  idea.  "Look 
there!"  he  pointed  ahead. 

A  stalwart  figure,  naked  as  on  the  day  he  was 
born,  except  for  a  breech  clout,  and  a  bright 
scarlet  officer's  sash  which  he  had  got  in  some 
treaty  years  before,  which  was  drawn  tight 

3S1 


THE  WEST  WIND 

around  his  middle,  trotted  out  into  the  open  bed 
of  the  river.  In  his  hand  he  swung  lightly 
above  his  head  a  long  and  heavy  rifle.  His  war 
bonnet  consisted  of  two  buffalo  horns,  spring- 
ing from  a  corona  of  eagles'  feathers,  which 
trailed  far  behind  him  in  the  fresh  breeze.  He 
wore  moccasins  upon  his  feet  and  a  cartridge 
belt  at  his  waist.  He  was  riding  a  splendid 
white  horse,  not  the  ordinary  Indian  pony,  and 
would  have  stood  full  six  feet  two  or  three 
inches  on  the  ground.  He  would  have  been  a 
fine  match  for  Big  Sullivan,  more  light,  perhaps, 
and  a  little  more  slender,  certainly,  but  beauti- 
fully, magnificently  proportioned.  He  sat  his 
restive  horse  easily,  just  out  of  rifle  range,  and 
intently  surveyed  the  camp. 

"Do  you  know  who  that  is?"  said  Kennard. 

"Roman  Nose,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I  Ve 
seed  him  often.  That's  the  old  man,  sure!" 

"What 's  he  up  to,  now?" 

"I  can't  tell  yet." 

As  they  watched  him,  a  great  horde  of  In- 
dians came  crowding  down  over  the  low  bank 
and  formed  up  irregularly  behind  the  Chief. 
There  appeared,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  trans- 


THE  LAST  RIDE 

formation-scene  in  a  theater,  scores  and  scores  of 
half-naked,  painted,  plumed  horsemen  lined  up 
in  the  valley.  One  or  two  of  the  frontiersmen 
lying  at  the  end  of  the  island  sent  bullets  up 
toward  the  group,  but  they  evidently  fell  short, 
for  no  attention  was  paid  to  the  shooting,  and 
Kennard  ordered  it  discontinued.  The  river 
made  a  slight  bend,  perhaps  thirty  or  forty  yards 
from  the  pine  tree,  otherwise  it  ran  straight 
away  to  the  place  where  the  Indians  were  con- 
gregated. 

As  the  Captain  and  the  scout  watched  them, 
Roman  Nose  turned  and  seemed  to  be  harangu- 
ing his  warriors.  Presently  they  formed  into 
a  sort  of  an  irregularly  massed  column. 

"Look!"  explained  the  officer,  "there  must  be 
one  hundred  and  fifty  of  them  in  the  front  rank 
and  God  knows  how  many  they  are  deep." 

Although  the  river  was  now  but  a  shallow 
brook,  in  the  rainy  season  it  was  a  broad  and 
powerful  stream,  and  its  bed  would  easily  admit 
of  that  number  of  horsemen  forming  in  a  line 
abreast.  Kennard  noticed  that  they  filled  it 
from  bank  to  bank  and  he  could  not  see  how 
many  lines  followed  the  first. 

353 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"What  are  they  going  to  do,  I  wonder?" 
queried  old  Meekins  uncertainly. 

What  they  were  about  to  attempt  was  some- 
thing the  like  of  which  neither  he  nor  any  one 
had  ever  seen  before,  nor  would  ever  see  again 
in  the  savage  warfare  of  the  plains. 

"If  they  were  white  men,  soldiers,  that  is," 
answered  the  Captain,  "I  should  think  they  were 
preparing  to  charge." 

"But  whoever  heerd  of  a  body  of  Injins  charg- 
in'  down  on  a  comp'ny  of  men  like  this,  all  dead 
shots  an'  under  cover,  an'  in  broad  daylight," 
exclaimed  the  old  trapper. 

"I  never  did." 

"No  more  did  I,  an'  I  can't  believe  they're 
goin*  to  do  it." 

"I  don't  know.  That  Roman  Nose  is  a 
soldier  all  right.  He  is  brave  enough  for  any- 
thing." 

"Well,  I  '11  grant  you  that,"  admitted  the 
scout,  "but  how 's  he  to  git  them  fellers  to  come 
after  him?" 

"You  know  what  one  brave  man  can  do  with 
even  a  crowd  of  ordinary  men." 

"Yep,  I  sure  does,  an'  them  fellers  yonder 

354 


THE  LAST  RIDE 

must  be  fairly  thirstin'  to  git  at  us.  You  sec,  we 
wiped  out  the  Half  Breed's  band,  and  before 
that  we  cut  Yellow  Foot  an'  his  crowd  to  pieces. 
There  must  have  been  two  or  three  got  away 
though." 

"Of  course,"  said  Kennard,  "and  they  brought 
him  down  upon  us.  He  is  going  to  try  to  end 
it  all  with  one  smashing  blow." 

"It's  like  one  of  them  old-fashioned  turney- 
ments  I  read  about  when  I  was  a  kid,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  only  no  tournament  was  ever  fought 
with  such  a  prize  in  view." 

He  paused  and  looked  back  at  Amy  Benham 
lying  at  full  length  beside  one  of  the  men  who 
was  badly  wounded.  She  was  carefully  bath- 
ing a  jagged  arrow  wound  in  his  cheek  with 
water  from  her  canteen. 

"You  mean  the  honor  of  the  gal?" 

"I  do!" 

"Cap'n  Kennard,  we  Ve  all  swore,  me  an'  the 
boys,  a  solemn  oath,  that  she  '11  never  fall  into 
the  hands  of  them  red  devils!" 

"And  I  have  sworn  it,  too!"  said  the  soldier, 
extending  his  hand  to  the  old  trapper,  who  shook 
it  vigorously.  "Look,"  he  exclaimed,  staring 

355 


THE  WEST  WIND 

ahead  again  after  a  little  pause,  "there 's  an- 
other one!" 

"Yep,  that'll  be  the  medicine  man,"  re- 
plied the  trapper. 

A  gaudily  bedizened  and  bedecorated  figure 
had  ridden  out  from  the  crowd  and  had  taken 
a  position  a  little  to  the  rear  and  some  twenty 
yards  away  from  Roman  Nose.  This  medicine 
man  wore  a  brilliantly  painted  war  shirt.  In 
his  gay  color  he  presented  a  strange  contrast  to 
the  statuesque  bronze  Indian  Hercules  who  had 
command. 

"Them  medicine  men  is  the  very  devil  for 
raisin'  hell  gener'ly,"  continued  Meekins.  "I 
know  his  breed.  He  's  got  'em  all  persuaded 
that  he  an'  them  bears  a  charmed  life.  I  '11  look 
out  for  him  all  right,  if  they  're  sich  fools  as  to 
try  to  ride  us  down,"  he  added  grimly. 

"And  I  will  take  Roman  Nose  for  my  par- 
ticular quarry,"  returned  Kennard,  his  eyes 
sparkling.  "How  many  do  you  think  there 
are?" 

"Well,  there  must  be  six  or  seven  hundred  of 
'em,"  replied  the  scout,  after  a  long,  critical  sur- 
vey. "You  say  there  'd  be  about  a  hundred  and 

356 


THE  LAST  RIDE 

fifty  in  the  first  rank,  an'  there  must  be  at  least 
five  ranks,  I  calkerlates." 

"I  agree  with  you." 

"They  'd  ought  to  scatter,  it  seems  to  me,  an' 
come  at  us  from  all  pints  of  the  compass." 

"They  can't.  The  river  bed  is  not  wide 
enough,  and  besides,  they  are  going  to  pour  a 
rifle  fire  on  us  from  the  banks  and  keep  us  down 
until  these  fellows  ride  over  us." 

"We  '11  have  to  chance  that,  I  reckon." 

"Yes,"  said  Kennard.  "Men,"  he  raised  him- 
self on  his  elbow  and  waited  until  he  got  at- 
tention, "Roman  Nose  is  going  to  try  to  ride 
us  down.  I  think  we  had  better  cease  firing 
and  every  man  look  to  his  Winchester.  Let 
every  man  have  his  magazine  full,  and  his  re- 
volver likewise.  Keep  under  cover  until  the 
word  is  given  and  then  every  man  to  his  knees. 
Do  not  fire  until  I  give  the  word,  and  then  pour 
it  into  them  without  stint,  Winchesters  first, 
after  that  revolvers.  Get  the  rifles  and  re- 
volvers of  the  wounded  and  dead.  The  men  at 
this  end  will  have  to  bear  the  brunt.  Just  as 
soon  as  the  Indians  get  near  enough,  the  rifle 
firing  from  the  flanks  will  stop.  They  will  be 

357 


THE  WEST  WIND 

so  excited  on  the  banks  that  they  cannot  hit  us, 
and  anyway  we  will  have  to  take  the  risk.  The 
charge  has  got  to  be  beaten  off.  If  they  once  get 
on  the  island,  God  help  us!  I  suspect  they  will 
veer  around  on  either  side  of  us,  and  if  they  do, 
the  men  to  the  right  and  left  and  in  the  rear 
have  to  be  on  the  alert.  Remember,  the  last 
shot  of  the  last  man  is  for  the  woman  1" 

"We  '11  remember  that,"  cried  old  Johnson, 
amid  deep  cries  of  approval  from  the  men. 

"I  know  you  will,"  said  Kennard.  "Now, 
men,  no  firing  until  I  give  the  word!" 

There  had  been  a  lull  in  the  rifle  firing  from 
the  banks  while  he  spoke,  as  the  Indians'  move- 
ments and  plans  were  being  coordinated,  but 
it  suddenly  broke  out  on  either  hand  with  re- 
doubled fury.  As  it  recommenced,  Roman 
Nose,  lifting  his  heavy  rifle  high  in  the  air,  put 
his  horse  to  a  trot.  Instantly  the  whole  Indian 
line  followed.  At  first  they  rode  in  silence 
broken  only  by  a  series  of  wild  adjurations  from 
the  medicine  man. 

"They're  comin'!"  cried  Meekins.  "Good 
God,  who  ever  heerd  the  like  of  this!  In  all 
my  life  I  never  seed  no  sich  charge!" 

358 


THE  LAST  RIDE 

"Nor  I.     Steady,  men ;  are  you  ready?" 

"All  ready,  sir." 

"Colonel  Morris!" 

"Captain  Kennard!" 

"Look  carefully  to  the  rear!" 

"I  shall." 

"Don't  let  your  men  get  out  of  hand,  John- 


son." 


"No,  sir." 

"Chambers?" 

"Here,  sir." 

"No  firing  until  I  give  you  the  order." 

"We  '11  wait." 

The  trot  had  become  a  canter  now.  The  In- 
dians were  coming  faster.  Suddenly,  high  and 
clear  and  terrifying,  in  such  a  voice  as  might  be 
expected  to  come  from  such  a  mighty  chest, 
Roman  Nose  pealed  his  war  song.  Among  all 
the  blood-curdling  sounds  that  may  fall  upon 
the  human  ear,  there  are  none  that  equal  in  ter- 
rifying power  the  war  cry  of  these  fierce  eagles 
of  the  plains. 

As  the  voice  of  the  great  Cheyenne  swept 
through  the  valley,  it  was  caught  up  by  a  thou- 
sand bronze  throats  until  even  the  women  and 

359 


THE  WEST  WIND 

children  on  the  bluffs  repeated  it,  and  such  a 
yell  of  defiance  smote  upon  the  ears  of  the 
frontiersmen  as  would  have  paralyzed  a  less  ex- 
perienced body  of  fighters.  But  these  men  had 
heard  Indian  warwhoops  before.  No  noise, 
however  appalling  to  the  tenderfoot,  was  able  to 
shake  these  veterans  of  many  a  desperate  ad- 
venture. 

Kennard  looked  back  at  them.  He  searched 
their  faces  carefully,  seeing  only  high  resolution, 
determination,  courage,  magnificent  purpose— 
the  light  of  battle.  He  did  not  have  time  for 
more  than  a  brief  glance,  for  the  next  instant 
the  Indians  were  at  the  little  bend.  The  yells 
of  the  oncoming  savages  drowned  the  rifle  firing 
which  had  been  poured  in  upon  them  with  re- 
doubled vigor  since  the  advance  began.  As  the 
Indians  approached  nearer,  however,  the  vol- 
leys suddenly  died  away.  The  on-rushing 
horsemen  were  perhaps  fifty  yards  away  and 
just  whirling  around  the  bend,  when  Kennard 
cried  sharply: 

"Now!" 


360 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WAR  SONG,  DEATH  SONG,  LOVE  SONG 

EVERY  frontiersman  rose  to  his  knees,  rifle 
in  hand. 

"Fire!"  roared  the  Captain. 

Forty  rifles  poured  a  sheet  of  steel  into  the 
front  of  the  wave  of  horsemen.  The  trot  had 
become  a  gallop.  Now  it  was  a  mad,  over- 
whelming rush  at  the  highest  speed  of  the 
horses. 

"  Again!" 

The  rifles  cracked  a  second  time. 

"Once  more!" 

The  young  Captain's  powerful  voice  rose 
high  above  the  deep  roar  of  the  battle,  and  for 
the  third  time  the  shots  of  death  smote  the  ad- 
vancing lines. 

They  were  nearer  now,  frightfully  near. 

"A  fourth  time,"  he  cried  coolly,  his  calm- 
ness belied  by  his  fiery  eyes  and  flushed  face  but 
accentuated  by  his  ever  steady  voice. 

361 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  white  men  were  fighting  with  beautiful 
<oourage  that  quite  matched  the  marvelous 
charging  spirit  of  the  Cheyennes — there  were 
two  great  leaders  of  equal  merit  in  that  bloody 
feud!  The  Indians  were  taking  punishment 
which  might  well  have  made  the  bravest  and 
most  disciplined  falter  and  give  way.  The 
medicine  man  was  down.  Great  gaps  were 
opened  in  the  crowd.  Reeling  figures  pitched 
forward  and  fell.  Horses  sprawled  heavily  on 
the  white  sand.  Men  in  the  rear  leaped  over 
ramparts  and  lines  of  huddled  bodies.  The 
pace  was  slowing,  but  they  still  came  indomi- 
tably on,  Roman  Nose,  still  untouched,  in  the 
lead.  Many  had  marked  him,  but  it  seemed 
that  some  charm  protected  him. 

"Once  more!"  cried  Kennard,  and  for  the 
fifth  time  the  awful  rifles  sped  their  leaden  death 
messengers. 

"  Again  I" 

They  were  at  hand  now.  In  mad  excitement 
ithe  frontiersmen  stood  to  their  feet,  disdaining 
cover,  revolvers  in  hand,  the  rapid,  splitting 
crack  of  their  fire  marking  the  different 
weapon. 

362 


WAR  SONG,  DEATH  SONG 

Roman  Nose  was  at  the  island!  Out  of  the 
smoke  and  dust  his  haughty,  handsome  face  burst 
on  the  view.  Kennard  had  fired  at  the  madly 
galloping  figure  a  half  dozen  times  in  vain. 
He  was  yet  unharmed.  While  he  lived  the 
charge  would  come  on.  Such  was  the  indomi- 
table spirit  of  the  man  and  his  men,  that  only 
death  could  stop  him — and  them.  If  he  fell, 
the  charge,  a  broken  wave,  would  beat  upon  the 
island  in  vain.  If  not — 1 

Using  it  with  one  hand  as  if  it  had  been  a  toy 
pistol,  the  Cheyenne  leveled  his  long  rifle, 
pointed  it  fairly  at  Kennard,  and  without  check- 
ing his  horse,  pulled  the  trigger.  He  had  easily 
recognized  the  commanding  officer  of  the  white 
men.  As  he  did  so,  two  rifle  shots  rang  out  be- 
hind the  Captain. 

Amy  Benham  and  Mah-wissa  had  both  risem 
to  their  feet  with  the  rest.  In  uncontrollable- 
excitement  the  white  woman  had  clutched  the- 
Winchester  Kennard  had  given  to  her,  which 
she  well  knew  how  to  use.  As  the  painted  but 
strikingly  handsome  face  of  the  great  Indian 
Chief,  alive  with  battle  fire,  broke  through  the 
smoke,  she  saw  instantly  her  lover's  peril,  and 

363 


THE  WEST  WIND 

fired  point  blank  at  the  Cheyenne.  Mah-wissa, 
standing  by  her  side,  her  lips  drawn  back  from 
her  white  teeth,  like  a  snarling  animal,  had  fol- 
lowed her  example. 

The  woman  had  fired  a  thought  too  late  for 
his  escape,  and  yet  early  enough  at  least  to  have 
saved  Kennard's  life,  for  the  Chief's  mushroom- 
ing bullet  had  struck  him  in  the  left  shoulder. 
Had  not  the  Cheyenne's  aim  been  slightly  di- 
verted by  the  simultaneous  discharge  of  the  two 
rifles,  his  own  shot  would  have  gone  through 
Kennard's  heart.  As  it  was,  Roman  Nose  threw 
up  his  arms,  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  cry  again 
that  inspiring  shriek,  and  suddenly  collapsed 
and  fell  into  the  smoke,  his  horse,  seemingly  shot 
at  the  same  moment,  going  down  with  him.  He 
lay  with  one  outstretched  hand  upon  the  island 
toward  which  he  had  ridden  with  such  head- 
long, superb,  death-defying  courage. 

The  next  moment  the  river  bed  in  front  was 
alive  with  yelling,  firing  figures.  The  warriors 
saw  Roman  Nose  fall,  and  stopped.  The 
hideous  painted  faces  seemed  to  writhe  in  the 
wavering  blue  smoke.  The  oncoming  horse- 
men for  the  first  time  drew  rein.  The  delay 

364 


WAR  SONG,  DEATH  SONG 

was  fatal.  The  ponies  were  jerked  back,  they 
swerved.  The  mass  was  divided,  one  part  rush- 
ing wildly  to  the  right,  another  to  the  left.  The 
white  men  poured  decimating  volleys  into  them 
as  they  swept  past.  Savage  endurance  and 
courage  had  been  tested  to  the  utmost.  They 
could  stand  no  more.  Madly  they  broke  and 
fled  to  the  banks  on  either  side. 

Magnificently  had  that  charge  been  led;  gal- 
lantly had  it  been  followed.  It  was  such  a 
charge  as  no  Indians  before  had  ever  made  in 
the  whole  four  hundred  years  in  which  white 
men  had  been  in  touch  with  them.  It  was  such 
a  charge  as  they  would  never  make  again  should 
they  live  four  hundred  years  longer  on  this  con- 
tinent. It  had  only  failed  because  the  heroic 
leader,  a  veritable  War  God,  an  incarnation  of 
the  old,  old  spirit  of  great  fighting,  had  at  last 
been  shot  dead  in  the  very  moment  of  success, 
in  the  very  front  of  his  sweeping  horsemen, 
with  his  hand  outstretched  in  triumph  to  grasp 
his  prey.  And  that  he  had  fallen  by  a  woman's 
hand  was  the  very  irony  of  fate  itself. 

As  Amy  Benham  had  fired  the  shot  that  saved 
her  lover's  life,  she  had  seen  Kennard  about  to 

365 


THE  WEST  WIND 

fall.  The  rifle  dropped  from  her  hand.  She 
caught  him  in  her  arms  and  eased  him  to  the 
ground.  The  cowboy  who  was  nearest  caught 
up  her  Winchester  and  emptied  it  at  the  fleeing 
masses. 

Kennard  had  not  lost  consciousness.  He  lay 
helpless  and  deathly  white  in  Amy's  arms, 
watching  the  progress  of  the  battle  until  the 
charge  had  spent  itself  and  then  had  been  re- 
pulsed, while  the  broken  wave  of  men  and  horses 
dissipated.  His  own  men  were  still  standing. 

"Down!"  cried  Kennard,  putting  all  the 
force  and  power  he  had  left  in  his  voice. 
"Quick,  for  God's  sake!" 

Amy  Benham  was  kneeling  by  his  side.  He 
caught  her  with  his  free  right  hand  and  forced 
her  to  the  ground.  The  men  obeyed  his  words, 
but  some  of  them  lingered  a  moment,  the  one 
fatal  moment,  for  as  the  rain  of  bullets  began, 
they  fell. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  Meekins,  "look  at 
the  bed  of  the  river!" 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  see  it  was  covered  with 
dead  men  and  horses;  with  wounded  men  and 
horses. 

366 


WAR  SONG,  DEATH  SONG 

"We  must  have  got  three  hundred  of  'em,n 
Said  the  scout,  surveying  the  scene  long  and 
earnestly.  "There  ain't  been  no  sich  a  charge 
an'  a  killin'  on  the  continent  afore." 

From  the  hills  came  wild  outbursts  of  wail- 
ing, mingled  with  the  screams  of  the  wounded 
horses.  Here  and  there  up  the  river  bed  an  In- 
dian would  be  seen  to  move.  Keen  eyes  were 
waiting  for  such  attempts,  and  those  who  tried! 
it  found  that  the  slightest  evidence  of  life  meant 
instant  death. 

"Colonel  Morris,!)  cried  Amy  Benham  in  one 
of  the  pauses  of  the  conflict;  "Mr.  Johnson,  will 
you  crawl  up  here?  Mr.  Chambers  will  look 
out  for  things  a  few  moments,  please." 

The  two  men  were  soon  by  the  side  of  Ken- 
nard  and  the  scout. 

"Have  you  got  it  bad,  Captain  Kennard?" 
asked  Colonel  Morris. 

"Bad  enough,  but  I  'm  worth  a  dozen  dead 
men,  yet,  Colonel.  Meekins,"  asked  Kennard, 
faintly,  "do  you  think  they  can  do  any  better 
than  that?" 

"Nobody  on  earth  can  do  any  better  than 
that,"  replied  the  trapper  earnestly.  "We  're 

367 


THE  WEST  WIND 

safe  enough  from  another  dash  like  that. 
Roman  Nose  is  gone,  an'  the  medicine  man,  an' 
I  take  it  they  ain't  got  no  one  else  to  lead  'em." 

"I  guess  that's  about  right,"  said  Johnson, 
who  had  enjoyed  long  experience  in  Indian 
lighting. 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  Morris.  "I  never  saw 
a  finer  charge  in  my  whole  four  years  of  fight- 
ing. Why,  our  Jeb  Stuart  or  your  Phil  Sheri- 
dan could  n't  have  come  on  more  gallantly  than 
that  fellow  did!  I'd  like  to  get  hold  of  him 
and  get  his  sash  and  gun." 

"He  's  lyin'  out  there  not  ten  feet  from  the 
pine  tree,"  said  Meekins. 

"It  'd  be  certain  death  to  try  it,"  said  Johnson. 

"Of  course,"  the  Captain  remarked;  "let  no 
man  try  to  leave  this  enclosure  without  my  per- 


mission." 


"You  wish  me  to  assume  command  because  of 
your  wound,  Captain  Kennard?"  asked  Colonel 
Morris,  formally. 

"Not  yet,  sir.  I  will  retain  the  command  as 
long  as  I  am  able.  I  called  you  here  for  words 
of  advice,  a  council  of  war,  if  you  please.  It  is 
my  opinion  that  having  tried  to  ride  us  down 

368 


WAR  SONG,  DEATH  SONG 

and  failed,  they  will  now  try  to  starve  us  out. 
We  cannot  get  away;  there  are  too  many 
wounded.  We  have  not  a  horse  left.  If  we 
go  out  in  the  open  they  would  cut  us  to  pieces 
in  ten  minutes.  We  will  have  to  get  word  of 
our  plight  back  to  Colonel  Wainwright.  He 
ought  to  be  in  camp  at  Tear  Lake  by  this  time. 
Morris,  ask  for  two  volunteers  to  go.  It  is  a 
desperate  risk,  but  it  has  to  be  done,  else  they 
will  get  us  all  in  the  end." 

"I  understand,  Captain;  I  will  see  that  it  is 
done." 

"Very  well ;  now  get  back  to  your  places  and 
keep  a  constant  lookout.  Do  not  let  the  men 
waste  their  cartridges." 

"We  hope  you  '11  be  all  right,  Cap'n,"  said 
Johnson,  as  they  crawled  away. 

"Never  fear,"  answered  Kennard.  "We  shall 
escape  sooner  or  later;  I  am  certain  of  it.  God 
has  not  permitted  us  to  rescue  this  lady  to  give 
her  up  again." 

He  spoke  as  loud  as  he  could  in  order  that  his 
words  might  be  heard  by  the  men,  who  again 
signified  their  approval  and  acquiescence  by  a 
hoarse  but  undaunted  cheer. 

369 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"Had  it  not  been  for  you,"  he  said  softly, 
reaching  out  for  her  hand,  where  she  lay  by  his 
side  in  the  trench  of  the  shallow  rifle  pit,  "I 
should  have  been  done  for.  My  revolver  was 
empty.  In  another  second  that  Indian  would 
have  had  me." 

Later  she  would  think  about  that  shot  of  hers 
with  horror.  At  present  she  was  only  conscious 
that  she  had  saved  his  life. 

"I  am  so  glad,"  she  murmured,  lifting  his 
hand  to  her  lips  and  kissing  it,  "that  I  was 
there." 

"It  was  a  fearful  risk  you  took.  Suppose  he 
had  shot  you  instead  of  me!" 

"They  don't  shoot  women,  you  know," 
answered  the  girl  significantly.  "Does  your 
wound  hurt  you  very  much?" 

"Not  now,"  said  the  man  softly,  "if  you  love 
me!" 

And  overhead  the  roar  of  the  battle  swept  on. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

OOMEHOW  or  other  the  day  dragged  on  its 
^  weary  length.  Indians,  as  a  rule,  are  not 
fond  of  night  attacks.  Had  Roman  Nose  been 
alive,  perhaps  he  would  have  overcome  the 
natural  prejudice  of  his  followers  and  have  as- 
saulted the  island  under  cover  of  darkness,  but 
his  bronze  body  still  lay  where  it  had  fallen, 
just  where  the  water  divided  at  the  upper  end. 
The  medicine  man,  too,  who  might  have  taken 
his  place,  was  gone,  and  the  Indians  had  been 
so  terribly  punished  that  Kennard  doubted  if 
any  of  the  remaining  chiefs  would  have  power 
to  inspire  such  a  hazardous  endeavor.  A  feel- 
ing, therefore,  of  comparative  security  possessed 
him  when  the  night  fell.  Nevertheless,  the 
most  careful  watch  was  kept  by  details  of  men 
on  every  side.  Intermittent  firing  was  kept  up 
during  the  night  by  the  Indians,  but  no  damage 
was  done,  and  the  men  were  so  utterly  ex- 

371 


THE  WEST  WIND 

hausted  by  the  frightful  strain  of  the  unequal 
and  terrible  combat,  that  those  not  on  watch 
actually  dozed  where  they  lay  in  the  sand,  and 
even  the  sentries  had  hard  work  to  keep  awake 
until  they  were  relieved. 

Pain  forced  Kennard  to  sleeplessness,  and  sym- 
pathy enabled  Amy  Benham  to  keep  him  com- 
pany, but  by  and  by  even  these  two  sank  to  rest, 
lying  side  by  side,  the  woman  holding  the  man's 
unwounded  hand. 

About  eleven  o'clock  at  night  Meekins  and  a 
companion  stole  silently  away  from  the  island. 
They  shook  hands  with  Kennard,  and  without 
a  sound  crawled  to  the  lower  end,  slipped  softly 
into  the  river  and  disappeared  into  the  darkness. 
So  far  as  the  rough  riders  could  tell,  they  were 
undiscovered,  but  morning  told  another  story. 
On  a  stunted  tree,  by  the  bank  of  the  river,  a 
naked,  gory,  white  body  hung.  It  was  that  of 
the  cowboy  who  had  accompanied  Meekins. 
He  had  been  frightfully  mutilated,  and  had  paid 
with  his  life  for  his  hazardous  attempt  to  bring 
succor  to  his  companions. 

Counting  those  who  had  died  in  the  valley  two 
days  before,  ten  of  the  little  band  had  been  shot 

372 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

dead,  or  had  succumbed  to  their  wounds.  Six, 
including  Kennard,  were  more  or  less  severely 
wounded;  Meekins  was  absent,  and  the  com- 
mand which  had  originally  numbered  fifty,  all 
told,  was  reduced  to  thirty-three  effectives,  but 
those  still  full  of  fight. 

The  day  was  less  eventful  than  the  first  period 
of  the  siege.  The  Indians  attempted  no  more 
charges.  They  had  removed  most  of  their  dead 
from  the  river  bed,  and  some  one,  more  daring 
than  the  rest,  had  even  attempted  to  get  the  body 
of  Roman  Nose.  One  of  the  scouts  on  the  look- 
out had  shot  him,  and  he  lay,  lariat  in  hand,  at 
the  feet  of  his  leader.  Neither  did  the  Indians 
keep  up  the  volley  firing.  They  appeared  to  have 
retired  when  day  broke,  and  it  was  not  until 
some  one  incautiously  exposed  himself  and  was 
shot  dead,  that  the  scouts  discovered  that  every 
cover  hid  a  sharpshooter.  The  main  body  had 
removed  to  the  shelter  of  the  grove  of  pine  trees 
up  the  river,  to  judge  from  the  camp  fires,  but 
the  banks,  and  even  the  bowlders  farther  away, 
were  lined  with  Indians.  One  man,  turning 
over,  incautiously  lifted  his  arm  and  had  the 
bone  shattered  before  he  could  drop  it.  On  the 

373 


THE  WEST  WIND 

other  hand,  whenever  an  Indian  showed  himself 
he  got  a  bullet  through  him. 

Both  sides  were  exceedingly  cautious  and 
casualties  were  comparatively  rare,  but  the  night 
saw  two  of  the  wounded  dead,  and  four  more 
scouts  killed,  and  four  more  wounded.  A  few 
more  than  a  score  of  the  original  defenders  were 
left.  At  this  rate,  a  few  days  would  see  them  all 
killed  off. 

The  day  had  been  a  frightful  one.  Out  of 
a  cloudless  sky  the  sun  had  beaten  down  upon 
the  unprotected  island  with  all  its  fury.  The 
water  had  grown  warm  and  insipid.  The 
wounded  suffered  terribly.  To  these  Amy  Ben- 
ham  was  an  angel  of  light.  The  men  stifled 
their  moanings  as  they  saw  her  crawling  to  their 
sides,  as  they  felt  the  touch  of  her  hand  upon 
their  fevered  brows.  They  swore  in  their  rough 
way  that  they  would  hold  the  island  for  her  un- 
til hell  froze  over;  that  every  man  should  see 
that  no  harm  came  to  her  and  that  the  last  bullet 
should  be  at  her  service. 

Kennard  had  kept  up  during  the  day,  but  at 
night  inflammation  set  in,  in  spite  of  all  that  Amy 
Benham,  seconded  by  some  of  the  frontiersmen 

374 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

who  had  some  little  experience  with  gunshot 
wounds,  could  do,  and  his  condition  became  pre- 
carious. Colonel  Morris  formally  assumed  the 
command  of  those  who  were  left. 

That  night,  two  more  volunteers  slipped  away 
to  search  for  aid.  The  next  morning,  as  they 
looked  with  sickening  apprehension,  the  first 
things  that  greeted  their  eyes  were  the  scalped 
bodies  of  the  two  hanging  on  the  tree  by  the  first 
one.  The  Indians  were  wildly  jubilant,  and 
several  of  them  showed  themselves  incautiously, 
but  were  speedily  reminded  that  there  was 
plenty  of  fight  yet  left  in  the  indomitable  island- 
ers. 

The  little  company  of  brave  defenders  was 
still  further  reduced,  for  when  daylight  enabled 
the  survivors  to  take  the  count  of  one  another,  it 
was  discovered  that  Mah-wissa  had  secretly 
stolen  away. 

"Do  you  suppose?"  asked  Colonel  Morris, 
who  was  now  in  full  charge,  Kennard  being  half 
delirious  with  fever,  "that  the  squaw  has  gone 
over  to  her  friends  and  betrayed  us?" 

"No,"  said  Amy  Benham;  "I  am  sure  she  has 


not" 


375 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"What's  become  of  her,  then?"  asked  John- 
son. 

"She  has  gone  for  help." 

"Everybody  that  has  tried  that  is  hung  over 
there." 

"Except  Meekins,"  put  in  Chambers. 

The  three  were  gathered  at  Kennard's  feet, 
discussing  the  situation.  The  Indians'  fire  had 
materially  slackened  since  the  day  before,  and 
yet  there  was  no  doubt  that  they  were  still  there, 
but  the  defense  of  the  island  had  been  made  more 
strong.  At  Kennard's  suggestion  the  men  had 
improved  the  hours  of  darkness  in  both  nights, 
by  throwing  up  more  earth,  and  joining  the 
spaces  between  the  rifle  pits  so  that  quite  a  little 
entrenchment  had  been  made.  In  some  places 
near  the  head  of  the  island,  it  was  high  enough 
to  allow  people  to  sit  up. 

"What  would  they  do  to  Mah-wissa  if  they 
caught  her?"  asked  Amy. 

Her  appearance  can  be  imagined  better  than 
described.  Outwardly,  the  refined  and  beauti- 
ful white  woman  had  sunk  to  the  degraded,  tat- 
tered, savage  level.  Inwardly  she  was  all  that 

376 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

she  had  been  and  more.  Her  spirit,  her  voice, 
her  bearing,  indicated  what  she  was. 

"That  depends  upon  what  she  'd  say  to  'em," 
spoke  up  Johnson.  "She  might  pretend  to  be  a 
deserter." 

"But  if  they  found  her  out?" 

"I  guess  they  'd  treat  her  worse  than  they  did 
the  white  men,  for  being  a  traitor  to  her 
crowd!" 

"Our  hopes,  then,  depend  upon  Meekins,  and 
this  squaw,"  said  Chambers. 

"That 's  about  it,"  answered  Morris. 

"Gentlemen,"  cried  Kennard,  who  had  recov- 
ered temporarily  from  a  stupor  and  had  been 
listening  intently  to  all  that  had  passed,  ".we  have 
been  here  three  days  now,  and  you  have  fought 
such  a  fight  as  nobody  on  this  continent  has  ever 
fought  before ;  that  will  be  remembered  forever! 
You  have  done  well!  I  have  an  idea  that  the 
main  body  of  Indians  has  gone.  At  any  rate,  I 
suggest  that  you  leave  me  and  the  other  wounded 
to  take  our  chances  here,  and  that  to-night  you 
make  a  dash  for  it.  They  got  the  others  because 
they  went  singly,  but  I  believe  there  are  enough 

377 


THE  WEST  WIND 

of  you  left  alive,  after  the  lesson  you  have  given 
these  red  devils,  to  get  away  safely— 

"That  '11  do,  Kennard,"  said  Colonel  Morris, 
forgetting  the  respect  due  to  the  rank  of  captain ; 
"you  are  our  Captain.  We  fought  with  you, 
and,  by  God,  we  '11  die  with  you!" 

A  burst  of  cracked  and  hoarse  but  tumultuous 
cheers  was  the  answer.  The  men  evidently  ap- 
proved the  declaration  of  the  old  Confederate. 

"If  we  tried  it,  an'  got  away,  Cap'n,"  said  old 
Johnson,  "I  'd  never  hold  up  my  head  again." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Kennard,"  was  the  remark 
of  young  Chambers. 

It  was  all  very  unmilitary  and  insubordinate. 
Kennard  laughed  feebly,  while  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"You  are  a  royal  bunch,"  he  said.  "We  are 
going  to  live  or  die  together,  then." 

"And  if  you  went  away,"  said  Amy  Benham, 
who  had  listened  quietly,  "you  would  have  to 
leave  me.  Captain  Kennard  and  I  are  to  be 
married,  if  God  lets  us  escape  this  peril,  and  if 
He  does  not,  I  stay  here  and  die  by  his  side." 

The  third  day  was  like  the  rest. 

The  mornings  of  the  fourth  and  the  fifth  day 

378 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

broke  with  the  situation  unchanged.  The  men 
were  ravenous  with  hunger  by  this  time.  They 
had  saved  extra  supplies  from  the  two  days'  ra- 
tions they  had  carried  for  the  woman,  but  she 
had  refused  to  take  more  than  her  share.  When 
they  had  insisted  upon  it,  to  emphasize  her  feel- 
ings she  had  thrown  the  extra  portion  into  the 
river.  After  that  they  treated  her  just  as  one  of 
themselves.  She  starved  with  the  rest. 

The  stench  that  arose  from  the  dead  bodies 
of  the  animals  was  appalling.  They  strove  to 
eat  mule  and  horse  meat,  but  revolted  from  the 
nauseating  mess.  There  was  no  continuous  fir- 
ing on  these  days,  but  when  Kennard,  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  fifth,  asked  four  of  the  men 
to  raise  him  in  a  blanket  as  high  as  their  shoul- 
ders that  he  might  see  the  surrounding  country 
for  himself,  there  was  a  sudden  volley  from  a 
little  coppice  near  by.  One  of  the  men  fell  and 
dropped  the  corner  of  the  blanket,  and  Kennard 
fell  upon  his  wounded  arm.  Otherwise  the  men 
kept  close  and  remained  under  cover.  The 
Indians  were  there.  How  many  of  them,  or  in 
what  force,  could  not  be  told,  but  they  were  still 
there. 

379 


THE  WEST  WIND 

The  command  was  in  no  condition  to  travel 
now.  Johnson  and  some  of  the  others  rather 
thought  that  the  main  force  of  the  Indians  was 
in  hiding,  and  that  they  would  be  hoping  the 
scouts  would  be  leaving  the  island  and  try  to  get 
back  to  the  regiment  on  foot,  in  which  case  they 
could  easily  massacre  them  in  the  open. 
Whether  that  could  have  been  tried  or  not,  even 
had  there  been  no  wounded,  was  a  question. 
They  had  no  horses  left.  They  were  exhausted 
by  heat,  hard  fighting,  starvation.  There  was 
nothing  for  them  to  do  but  cling  like  grim  death 
to  such  shelter  as  they  had,  and  wait. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth  day,  when 
hope  had  been  almost  abandoned,  a  watcher 
languidly  staring  across  the  foot  of  the  island 
down  toward  the  clefts  in  the  wall,  through 
which  the  river  flowed,  and  through  which  they 
had  entered  the  valley,  detected  a  flash  of  light. 
Not  being  a  soldier  he  could  not  understand 
what  it  was,  but  he  thought  best  to  report  it  to 
Colonel  Morris.  Together  they  watched  it  and 
the  veteran  finally  decided  that  it  must  be  a 
heliograph  signal  which  he  could  not  read. 
Kennard,  who  was  dozing,  was  awakened,  and 

380 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

with  pain-racked  body  propped  himself  up  and 
stared. 

Yes,  it  was  a  signal!  He  could  read  it  with- 
out difficulty! 

"Hold  on  till  night!  Help  is  coming!"  it 
said. 

As  soon  as  he  spelled  it  out  he  proclaimed  the 
glad  news  to  the  men. 

"Can  you  signal  back  something?"  asked  Colo- 
nel Morris. 

"I  could  if  I  had  a  mirror,"  was  the  reply,  but 
there  was  no  mirror  with  the  command. 

"How  would  it  do  to  fire  a  volley,  just  to  let 
'em  know  we  're  livin'?"  asked  Johnson. 

"That 's  well  thought  of,"  said  Kennard,  and 
at  a  given  command,  twenty  rifles  blazed  out  a 
triumphant  discharge. 

Again  the  heliograph  signaled: 

"Keep  up  your  courage!" 

When  he  had  translated  this  last  message, 
Kennard's  nerve  gave  way  in  a  revulsion  of 
feeling.  His  wounded  shoulder  was  in  fright- 
ful condition.  It  was  Amy  Benham  who  shel- 
tered him  from  the  gaze  of  the  men ;  it  was  her 
hand  upon  his  head,  her  voice  in  his  ear,  that 

381 


THE  WEST  WIND 

finally  calmed  him.  She  saved  him  in  his  weak- 
ness; he  would  never  forget  that. 

The  hours  that  intervened  between  the  receipt 
of  that  message  and  the  dark  were  the  longest 
that  any  of  them  on  the  island  had  ever  spent. 
With  what  intensity  they  watched  while  the  day- 
light lasted,  and  listened  when  darkness  came, 
for  the  sound  of  their  rescuers,  and  with  what 
joy  they  welcomed  the  hoof-beats  of  the  horses, 
the  eager  cries  of  excited  men,  splashing  through 
the  river,  bearing  food  and  drink  and  medicine, 
and  two  surgeons,  who  without  further  ado, 
dropped  on  their  knees  beside  the  wounded. 

Hamilton  led  the  party,  Kennard's  own  troop 
burning  to  rescue  their  old  commander  and  get 
back  into  his  good  graces  again,  and  redeem 
themselves  in  his  eyes  for  their  mutinous  conduct 
in  the  canon.  They  had  ridden  desperately  hard 
since  Meekins,  after  a  frightful  journey,  had 
notified  them  the  day  before,  and  all  that  men 
and  horses  could  do  they  had  done.  With  the 
soldiers  was  the  old  hunter,  his  left  arm  in  a  ban- 
dage. 

"Thank  God!  you  got  here,"  said  Kennard 
weakly. 

382 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

"I  had  a  close  call,"  said  the  trapper.  "They 
got  poor  Lang,  an'  wounded  me,  but  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  git  a  pony  an'  got  away.  It  took  me 
four  days  to  make  the  journey.  Thank  God! 
there  are  some  of  you  alive  still.  Where  's  Miss 
Benham?" 

"Here." 

"Unharmed?" 

"Unharmed,  thank  God  and  these  brave  men. 
And  Mah-wissa,  have  you  seen  her?" 

"No,  not  a  sight  of  her." 

"What's  to  be  done?"  asked  Hamilton,  who 
had  been  busy  with  the  men,  looking  after  the 
details  of  feeding  and  caring  for  the  de- 
fenders of  the  island. 

"I  think  there  is  a  bunch  of  Indians  up  there 
in  those  pine  woods,"  said  Kennard. 
,    "Good!    We'll    attend    to    them.     Do    you 
know  any  other  way  out  of  this  valley  than  that 
by  which  we  came  in?" 

"No,"  said  Kennard. 

"I  do,"  said  Amy  Benham.  "Over  that  ridge 
yonder  just  where  you  see  that  big  star.  We 
came  in  that  way." 

"There  is  no  exit  at  the  upper  end?/' 

383 


THE  WEST  WIND 

"There  must  be,  I  think,"  said  Kennard,  "for 
Roman  Nose  must  have  come  in  that  way." 

"Well,  if  there  are  any  of  his  men  left,  they 
will  have  a  chance  to  get  out  some  way  if  we 
don't  get  them  ourselves.  Come,  Bodley,  let  us 
get  our  men  and  beat  up  the  game." 

Dismounting  and  leaving  their  horses,  and  ac- 
companied by  some  of  the  frontiersmen,  the 
hardiest  among  them,  who  wanted  to  be  in  at  the 
death,  the  party  on  foot  advanced  toward 
the  supposed  camp  in  the  trees. 

The  place  was  empty!  Not  an  Indian  to  be 
seen!  They  paused  in  uncertainty,  not  knowing 
what  to  do,  when,  suddenly,  they  heard  a  shot 
fired  up  in  the  valley  from  the  direction  of  the 
ridge  over  which  Amy  and  Mah-wissa  had  come 
when  they  had  found  shelter  there. 

"They  are  escaping  that  way!"  said  Hamilton, 
"Come  on!" 

It  was  easy  to  see  the  outline  of  the  cliffs  sil- 
houetted against  the  sky  and  stars,  and  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  direction.  Hamilton  plunged 
into  the  shallow  river,  and  followed  by  the  troop- 
ers, ran  toward  the  ridge.  No  effort  at  conceal- 
ment was  made,  and  they  had  gone  but  a  short 

384 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

distance  when  the  valley  blazed  with  fire,  and 
shots,  mostly  over  their  heads,  came  hurtling 
that  way. 

Not  stopping  to  return  the  fire,  the  men  ran 
on.  The  Indians  apparently  after  that  one  dis- 
charge fled  madly  for  the  ridge,  with  the  white 
men  in  pursuit. 

Just  as  they  reached  it,  it  was  topped  with 
black  figures,  and  the  next  instant  a  fierce  line  of 
flashes  ran  along  the  horizon.  The  escaping 
savages  were  at  a  terrible  disadvantage.  Again 
they  broke.  This  time  to  be  met  with  scathing 
fire  from  Hamilton's  men,  who  had  been  de- 
ployed on  the  run,  and  now  almost  encircled  the 
Cheyennes.  There  were  not  more  than  a  hun- 
dred of  them  who  had  been  left  to  observe  the 
besieged.  The  rest  with  the  women  and  chil- 
dren had  gone  on.  They  were  practically  sur- 
rounded by  a  hundred  soldiers,  for  from  some 
source  and  by  some  reason,  the  mouth  of  the 
ridge  over  which  they  had  hoped  to  escape  from 
the  valley  had  been  occupied  in  force.  Only 
the  darkness  saved  the  Indians  from  absolute  ex- 
termination. As  it  was,  they  were  cut  to  pieces. 
A  few  of  them  broke  through  the  encircling  line, 

385 


THE  WEST  WIND 

killing  two  troopers  who  endeavored  to  stop 
them,  and  got  clean  away. 

When  the  morning  came  and  soldiers  scoured 
the  valley,  no  living  Cheyennes  were  found.  At 
the  upper  end  of  the  valley  they  discovered  a 
narrow  but  practicable  trail  over  which  the 
Indians  had  come  and  gone. 

Their  extermination  was  due  to  Mah-wissa. 
She  had  not  deserted  the  woman  she  loved.  She 
had  taken  advantage  of  her  knowledge  of  the 
country  to  escape  from  the  valley  over  the  ridge 
by  which  they  had  entered  it.  After  incredible 
hardships  she  had  descended  the  mountains  until 
she  found  a  place  to  cross  the  river  in  the  canon. 
She  had  reached  Colonel  Wainwright's  camp- 
he  was  already  on  the  march  toward  the  valley 
with  all  the  force  he  had — after  Meekins  had 
got  there  and  dashed  forward  with  Kennard's 
troop,  in  the  hope  of  effecting  a  rescue  more 
quickly  than  if  they  had  delayed  for  the  main 
body. 

Mah-wissa  had  explained  the  situation,  and 
told  of  the  ridge,  which  was  a  shorter,  if  harder, 
trail,  and  had  offered  to  conduct  a  troop  there. 

386 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

They  had  arrived  in  the  very  nick  of  time  to  be 
in  at  the  death,  as  it  were. 

The  death  of  Roman  Nose,  and  the  awful 
slaughter  among  his  followers,  so  disheartened 
them,  that  the  poor  remainder  of  the  Cheyennes 
fled  northward  and  made  no  attempt  to  join 
Crazy  Horse,  who,  thus  deserted,  was  unable  to 
cope  with  General  Crook.  The  defense  of 
"Sullivan's  Island"  was  the  crucial  incident  of 
the  campaign,  and  the  settlements  of  the  north- 
west were  saved  a  long  summer  of  terror  by  the 
heroic  stand  made  by  the  gallant  frontiersmen, 
who  had  held  the  red  warriors  at  bay. 

They  buried  Roman  Nose  on  the  island  at  the 
feet  of  the  ranchman.  Savage  though  he  was, 
his  valor  had  been  not  less  conspicuous,  his  con- 
duct not  less  intrepid,  than  that  of  the  white 
man. 

The  dead  scouts  were  also  interred  on  the 
island  they  had  immortalized  by  their  valor. 
Those  of  them  who  were  alive  were  ordered 
back  to  Fort  McCullough  to  recuperate. 

Surgical  skill  and  careful  nursing  saved  Ken- 
nard's  life,  which  at  first,  on  account  of  his 

387 


THE  WEST  WIND 

long  neglected  wound,  had  been  despaired  of. 
When  he  was  on  his  feet  again,  and  his  rough 
riders  had  been  disbanded  on  account  of  the 
close  of  the  campaign,  there  was  a  wedding  at 
Fort  McCullough. 

It  fell  to  old  Johnson  to  give  the  bride  away, 
and  every  one  of  the  troopers  who  had  survived 
was  honored  by  attendance  upon  the  groom, 
now  Major  Kennard,  if  you  please,  with  a 
second  medal  of  honor. 

There  were  few  women  on  the  frontier,  and 
most  of  them  were  married,  so  that  Amy  Ben- 
ham,  "The  West  Wind,"  had  no  one  to  attend 
her  save  a  little  Indian  woman,  Mah-wissa,  the 
Blue  Bird,  dressed  for  the  occasion  with  all  the 
barbaric  finery  that  she  could  compass.  She 
stood  by  her  white  sister's  side  in  this  happy 
hour,  as  she  had  stood  by  her  side  in  the  days  of 
deadly  peril  which  they  had  both  passed  through 
together. 

As  the  young  couple  drove  away  in  the  big 
army  ambulance  decorated  with  white,  old 
Johnson,  carefully  shifting  his  quid,  made  this 
comment: 

"Well,  this  here  wedding  would  have  been 
388 


ON  SULLIVAN'S  ISLAND 

just  about  perfect,  if  old  Colonel  Benham  an' 
big  Pat  Sullivan  had  been  here." 

And  yet  that  was  not  quite  true,  after  all,  for 
there  is  no  doubt  that  Sullivan  was  happier  in 
his  lonely  grave  on  the  island  under  the  tall  pine 
than  he  would  have  been  watching  the  woman 
he  loved  married  to  another  man. 


THE  END 


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